


In the Eye of the Beholder

by NedsBrownEyes (KTMcGivens)



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Art, Aunts & Uncles, British Police, Capture, Case, Cousins, Detective, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hugs, Impersonation, Interpol - Freeform, Kissing, Love, Mystery, Teamwork, Theft, True Love, art heist, gallery, sleuth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTMcGivens/pseuds/NedsBrownEyes
Summary: Nancy and Ned work on solving a dangerous case together which involves George's family.  It's fun to work as a team when you're in love!





	1. Chapter 1

“So, we can agree that van Gogh was a quintessential misunderstood genius,” Dr. Baker droned on, “and the most influential post-impressionist painter in the history of western art.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that!” whispered Nancy to Ned. When he didn’t respond, she turned to look at him, and found that he had nodded off to sleep. She could hardly blame him for the lecture room was warm and stuffy and the lecturer not very engaging. Nancy gently poked him in the ribs.

“What?” Ned said softly as he opened his eyes, “oh, geez, I guess I dozed off. What did I miss?”

“Only that Dr. Baker believes that Vincent van Gogh was the most influential post-impressionist painter in the history of western art and that he was a misunderstood genius,” answered Nancy, smiling.

“Well, I’m not sure about that!” replied Ned, gruffly, “I’m sorry, Nancy, that I dragged you to this lecture. You must be bored out of your mind!”

“No, not at all,” she reassured him, “I do agree that the lecturer is not the best, but the subject matter is pretty interesting. Besides, I enjoy any activity I can share with you. We don’t get an opportunity to be together very often!”

Ned looked at her fondly. “Now that’s something I can agree with!” he replied, discreetly reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze, “although some activities are more enjoyable than others.”

Nancy wrinkled her nose at him but flipped her hand over, taking his hand into hers. She had driven up to Emerson College earlier in the day to attend the lecture with Ned who was receiving extra credit toward his Art History class. Although she always looked forward to seeing Ned, she had also been eager to attend this particular lecture as Dr. Philip Baker was reported to be an expert in rare artwork and unknown artists. He also had the reputation of being an excellent speaker, so she was surprised by his focus on van Gogh and the lack of luster in his presentation. She wondered if he was ill or if something more serious was on his mind.

When the lecture ended, Nancy and Ned fell in with the rest of the attendees as the crowd made their way to the exit. As they neared the door, a young man, who had been waiting nearby, leaned toward Nancy and asked softly, “excuse me, but are you Miss. Nancy Drew?”

“Yes, I am,” answered Nancy, coming to a stop.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” he began, “but Dr. Baker wanted to know if you could spare a few minutes to meet with him?”

Nancy looked at Ned who nodded, “we don’t have any immediate plans.”

“Wonderful,” replied the young man, “please follow me.”

The man led them out of the auditorium and into a long hallway. Halfway down, he stopped at one of the doors and gently knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice from inside and the young man opened the door and led Nancy and Ned inside.

Standing in the middle of the room was Dr. Baker. He turned and greeted Nancy and then Ned, shaking hands with them both. He seemed smaller to Nancy than he did earlier as he lectured in front of the lecture hall. He shoulders were slouched and there was sadness in his eyes.

“He’s definitely worried about something,” Nancy thought to herself.

“Thank you so much for giving me some of your time, Miss. Drew,” said the professor, “I understand that you are a detective and I need your help! The matter is of the upmost importance!”

“Oh!” responded Nancy, somewhat shocked, “I’m willing to help in any way I can but please know that I am only an amateur detective.”

“With the highest reputation for solving mysteries and helping people! If the police get involved,” cried Dr. Baker, and his hands started to shake, “why, it could bring about a terrible scandal for my family!”

“Please calm yourself, Uncle,” the young man said, suddenly stepping forward and pulling over a chair. He gently assisted the older man in sitting down and then reached over and grabbed a cup from a nearby table. “Take a sip of your tea while I get you a pill.”

“For my heart,” smiled Dr. Baker weakly, motioning for Nancy and Ned to sit down, “please sit. I’m afraid that I’m not explaining things clearly. I shall start at the beginning.”

Nancy and Ned sat down near the professor and waited until he had swallowed the pill.

“Thank you, Randolph,” he said, patting the young man’s shoulder. Then, turning to the couple, he replied, “my nephew takes very good care of me. I cause him so much trouble, but he is very patient. I couldn’t travel to do these speaking engagements without him.”

“Thank you, Uncle Philip,” replied Randolph, blushing slightly, “but you are no trouble and I enjoy traveling with you.”

“So,” started Dr. Baker, “let me begin. My sister, Jeanne, is a gifted artist and art dealer. She also collects artwork and, over the years, has been able to acquire a number of fine paintings which she displays in her home. Several months ago, against her better judgement, she lent ten of them to a local gallery for a special exhibition celebrating women artists. The exhibit was very well attended and quite successful. Then, about a week before the exhibit was to close, and the pieces were to be returned to her, one of the paintings was stolen.”

“Oh no,” exclaimed Nancy, shaking her head, “that’s terrible!”

“Yes,” agreed Dr. Baker, “the painting was a Fontana and extremely valuable.”

“And you want Nancy to find it?” asked Ned, finally speaking.

“No,” replied the professor, “there is no need. The painting was returned mysteriously two days later. The housekeeper found it bundled up in brown paper wrapping, sitting on the front porch near the door.”

“I don’t quite understand why you need my help,” Nancy started to say.

“You see,” continued Dr. Baker, “there are so many unanswered questions. Why was the picture returned? Why was it taken to begin with? Who stole the painting and did the same person return it?”

“Please forgive the question,” replied Nancy, “but, since your sister has recovered the painting, is it really that important to have the answers to those questions. Perhaps the thief had a moment of remorse and decided to return the painting. Or, it was all a mistake, and someone was trying to return the piece to your sister directly.”

“Yes, I see your point,” said Dr. Baker, “however, a second painting has now gone missing. This time, it was taken from the wall of her home!”

Nancy and Ned gasped. 

“Is your sister’s home alarmed?” asked Nancy.

“Oh yes!” exclaimed the professor, “with so many valuable art pieces displayed there, Jeanne has a very elaborate and expensive system.” 

“Was the second painting also a Fontana?” asked Ned.

“No, it’s a Cassatt,” replied the professor.

“I really think that this is a matter for the police,” said Nancy, “they have detectives especially trained in these types of crimes.”

“No, no!” exclaimed Dr. Baker, holding up his hands, “the police must not be called. My sister would be ruined as an art dealer and even me as an art professor. The family does not want the scandal! There will be those who will think that we are trying to commit some type of scam. Perhaps to gain notoriety or file an insurance claim. We need to solve this mystery as soon as possible before word spreads and our reputations are ruined.”

Nancy thought for a moment and then finally said, “Well, in that case, I will be happy to help in any way I can,” she replied, adding, “I will need to speak to your sister as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course,” nodded Dr. Baker, “Randolph will provide you with her telephone number and address.”

“It would also be helpful if I had a list of all of the paintings that were on loan to the gallery for the exhibit,” Nancy added.

“I can give that to you now,” said Randolph, pulling out a document from his uncle’s briefcase and handing it to Nancy, “as you can see the list includes three Lavinia Fontana’s, four Mary Cassatt’s, two Judith Leyster’s, and a Angelica Kauffman.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Miss. Drew, for taking the case,” replied Dr. Baker as Ned and Nancy stood to leave, “here is my card. Please do not hesitate to call me should you need anything.”

Nancy and Ned shook hands with him and started toward the door. Suddenly Nancy stopped, and turned to ask, “by the way, Dr. Baker, how is it that you were able to send Randolph into the auditorium to ask for my help? He was able to pick me out of the crowd of attendees and wait for me at the door. Did you happen to spot me while you were giving your lecture?”

Dr. Baker exchanged puzzled looks with his nephew before responding, “George told me that you would be coming and that I should ask you for your help.”

“George?” Nancy repeated, “you mean my friend George Fayne?” 

George Fayne, along with George’s cousin Bess Marvin, had known Nancy since childhood and were her best friends. They were like sisters to Nancy and she spoke with them nearly every day.

“Yes, that’s right,” responded Randolph, “George called last night and told us that you would be attending today’s lecture with Mr. Nickerson.”

It was Nancy and Ned’s turn to be puzzled. 

“How is it that you know George?” asked Nancy.

“Why, we are related to the Faynes,” smiled Randolph, “Uncle Philip and his sister are Mr. Fayne’s first cousins.”

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” remarked Ned, chuckling.

“It certainly is,” replied Nancy, “George never said a word!”

“Perhaps she was afraid that you might not come to the lecture if you knew that I would be asking for your help!” said Dr. Baker, sadly.

“No, it would likely be just the opposite,” replied Ned, “George knows that Nancy can never turn down a mystery!”

Later that evening, Nancy placed a call to George back home in River Heights.

“Hey George!” said Nancy when George answered the phone, “trying to keep me busy?”

“Hi Nancy,” replied George, “sorry to do that to you but Cousin Philip really needs your help! Besides, I’m not sure you can be trusted with nothing to do but spend time with Ned,” she teased.

Actually, that had been the only thing that had concerned Nancy about taking the case. She had driven up to Emerson to spend a few days with Ned. In the past, she had often found herself involved in a case during times she had planned to spend with her boyfriend. Dates, dances, and even vacations, were interrupted by mysteries and this had become a bone of contention between the two of them. Ned had felt neglected and had accused her of not loving him. She, in turn, had felt unsupported and misunderstood. They had even broken up twice over it, but their love had always brought them back together. The realization that they were miserable without each other had forced them to compromise and, now, they made a concerted effort to find time to be together, remaining ever mindful not to let history repeat itself.

After they had left Dr. Baker and Randolph, Nancy had pulled Ned to the side. “Ned, taking this case will take away time from us. I came up here to spend time with you. I don’t need to take it, you know.”

“Sweetheart,” replied Ned, bending down to brush his lips against hers, “I appreciate you thinking of that, but I believe that you really need to take it. It sounds like a very interesting case and, besides, it’s George’s family.”

Nancy studied his face closely for a moment and then said, “you know that I’ll probably need your help, right? Perhaps we can work on this together?”

“That sounds swell, Nancy!” replied Ned, brightly, “you are perfectly capable of going it alone, but I would love to be your assistant, if you really think it will help.”

“Absolutely,” said Nancy, grinning up at him and slipping her arm into his as they continued on across the campus.

“George Fayne,” Nancy now said into the telephone, “you tease but you know that Ned and I don’t seem to spend enough time together NOT to be trusted!”

“And that, in and of itself, is pretty ridiculous, you know,” scolded her friend, “you’ve been dating for years and probably have only laid eyes on each other for a total of…what?... two or three days!”

“And how is my taking your cousin’s case helping?” asked Nancy in return, although she knew that George only wished the best for her. The Fayne’s must really be concerned.

As if reading Nancy’s mind, George’s tone became serious, “I do apologize. Really! I know that I’m putting you in a terrible position, Nance,” she replied, “I’ll explain things to Ned. I feel awful about the time this will take away from your being together. But Cousin Jeanne and Philip are in trouble and we need you.”

“You needn’t worry, silly!” assured Nancy, finally letting George off the hook, “Ned and I discussed it and I’m taking the case. After all, you’re like family too me, George. How could I refuse?”

“Oh, Nancy! That wonderful,” replied her friend in relief, “if anyone will be able to figure it out, it’s you! But I hope we haven’t caused too much trouble between you and Ned.”

“No trouble at all,” Nancy replied, “in fact, he’s agreed to help, and I will need yours and Bess’s help as well! 

“Gee Nancy, of course we’ll help!” said George, “what do you need?”

“An interview with your cousin Jeanne,” she answered, “do you think you could line one up for this weekend? Ned will be finished with classes by tomorrow morning and we’ll be driving back to River Heights right after luncheon.”

“You can count on me!” replied George, “I’ll give you a call tomorrow after you’ve arrived back home.”

“Perfect,” said Nancy.

“Oh, and Nancy,” added George, “please give that wonderfully patient quarterback of yours a big kiss for me, O.K.?”

“O.K,” Nancy answered with a chuckle, “I think I can handle that.”


	2. Chapter 2

The following Sunday afternoon found Nancy, Ned, Bess, and George on their way to Jeanne Woodright’s home. The weather was perfect and Nancy had the top down on the roadster, enjoying the delicious warmth of the breeze as it blew through her titian blond hair. Ned sat next to her in the passenger seat while Bess and George sat in the rumble seat. Between them was a large hamper filled with food from Hannah.

“It’s such a pretty day,” the housekeeper had said, “why not include a picnic in your plans?”

“Great idea, Hannah,” exclaimed Nancy, “we love your lunches! But please make sure to make double as Ned will be with us,” she added, chuckling.

“Of course,” smiled Hannah, “the young man eats enough to feed an entire army. I don’t know where he puts it!”

“Hollow leg, I suppose,” replied Nancy, returning Hannah’s smile.

Mrs. Woodright’s house was located just under one hour north of River Heights and the group decided to stop for lunch halfway into their trip. They found a nice shaded spot just off the highway and spread out a blanket. After a while, Nancy brought up the subject of the Fayne’s relatives.

“How well do you know your cousin Jeanne?” Nancy asked George, as she finished the last bites of her chicken salad sandwich.

“Not very,” replied George, “the last time I saw her was about a dozen years ago. I’m not sure I would recognize her now. I don’t know my father’s side of the family as well as my mother’s.”

“Perhaps that’s because our mothers are sisters and live so close to each other, dear cousin,” said Bess, with an affectionate wink at George.

‘Yes, that’s probably right,” agreed George, nodding, and then added with a sigh, “my father’s side of the family has always been rather odd. So many of them are artists so I suppose it’s part of their character.”

“Well, very creative people are often seen as living outside of societal norms,” replied Nancy, “but what would the world be like without them?”

“Very boring,” mumbled Ned, swallowing a mouthful of potato salad. 

“You know,” said George, thoughtfully, “now that I think about it, I hardly remembered that I had a cousin Jeanne until cousin Philip called me the other day about Nancy.”

“Yes, I meant to ask you how that happened,” replied Nancy, handing Ned a large piece of pecan pie, “were you aware of the art thefts and told your cousin Philip that I would be attending his lecture with Ned or did he call you?”

“Well, let me see,” said George, pausing to think for a moment, “he called me, which was very unusual. I don’t believe he’s ever called me before. He usually talks to my father. He told me that he would be speaking at Emerson soon and wondered if Ned Nickerson was still a student there. He said that his nephew, Randolph, was a fan of Ned’s and followed Ned’s football career.”

“Randolph didn’t act like a fan when we met him,” mused Ned, “in fact, he didn’t pay much attention to me at all. If I recall correctly, he spoke only to Nancy.”

“Perhaps he was too shy to ask for your autograph, Mr. Nickerson,” teased Bess.

“Very funny,” replied Ned, reaching into the food hamper, “just for that, Marvin, I’m going to finish off the last bit of pie.”

“Oh, you are a cruel one, Ned Nickerson,” mocked Bess dramatically, “how do you stand him, Nancy?”

“Well, it’s a tough job,” replied Nancy, smiling fondly at Ned, “but it does have it’s rewards,” she added as Ned blow her a kiss.

Bess giggled as George groaned and continued. “Cousin Philip then asked if Ned was still dating Nancy Drew and when I said yes, he replied ‘excellent, I have a mystery for her’ and told me about the art thefts. It sounded very serious so I’m afraid I rather encouraged him to seek you out.” She looked at Ned guiltily, but he just smiled at her.

“Very interesting,” was all Nancy said as the group reloaded the hamper and returned to the roadster. Soon they were on their way again.

They arrived at Mrs. Jeanne Woodright’s home thirty minutes later and were greeted by the lady herself. Cousin Jeanne was a pleasant looking woman of about 35 years of age, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. She wore a long loose fitting bright green house dress, a long string of multicolored beads around her neck, and a blue scarf tied around her head. She was barefoot.

“Darlings!” she exclaimed, stepping forward and throwing her arms around George who was standing at the front of the group, “here you are at last! Which one of you lovely young people is my dear cousin George?” she asked, looking from one to another.

“I am,” replied George, extracting herself from her cousin’s arms. But before she could introduce the others, Cousin Jeanne grabbed her by the shoulders and, in European style, kissed her once on each cheek. 

“Of course, you are!” Jeanne Woodright exclaimed, grabbing George’s chin and closely studying her face, “I can see the family resemblance!”

George, unused to this sort of manhandling, was, by this time, blushing. She managed to lean slightly away from her cousin before turning to introduce her friends.

“Ah! Bess!” said Jeanne, “a cousin from the other side of the lineage! Well, George’s cousin is now my cousin!” and she leaned in and gave Bess the same greeting of kisses.

Bess was about to explain that, even though she was related to George, she was in no way related to Jeanne. But, before she could speak, Jeanne Woodright had moved on to Nancy. 

“This must be the famous Nancy Drew!” Jeanne Woodright cried, grabbing the young detective.

“So nice to meet you, Mrs. Woodright,” replied Nancy, “thank you for welcoming us to your home.”

“Not at all!” replied Cousin Jeanne, “I’m the one who should be thanking you!” And then she turned to Ned who was standing quietly behind the three girls.

“My, my,” she exclaimed, giving him an appreciative look from head to toe, “aren’t you tall and delicious! Who do you belong too?”

Ned, surprised, blushed, as his words caught in his throat, but both Bess and George silently pointed to Nancy.

“Mrs. Woodright,” said Nancy, as calmly has she could, “this is my boyfriend, Ned Nickerson.”

“Ah, yes, of course he is,” smiled Jeanne, reaching out to grab Ned’s hand and pulling him toward the house, “come with me, gorgeous Ned, let me show you my collection.”

As Ned was being dragged along, he looked over his shoulder and gave Nancy a pleading look. She smiled reassuringly at him but quickened her steps to move closer as the group entered the Woodright home. Once inside, however, Cousin Jeanne seemed to lose interest in Ned and, dropping his hand, walked into a large room which was designed as a small gallery. On the walls hung numerous paintings of various sizes. Several small statues were displayed in each corner and there was one very large figure situated in the middle of the room. 

“Cassatt,” said Cousin Jeanne to Nancy, as the young detective studied the first painting. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Nancy, “she was an American Impressionist, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, one of the best,” replied Cousin Jeanne, “though, as a female artist, she didn’t get the recognition she deserved.”

“I see that you have several works by female artists in your collection,” Nancy noted, glancing around the room, “is that why you agreed to lend some of them to the local gallery exhibit?”

“Yes,” replied Cousin Jeanne, “and then those idiots let one get stolen! I’ll never permit any of my pieces to leave this house again!”

“Which one was it?” asked Nancy.

“It’s the Fontana over there,” replied Cousin Jeanne, pointing in the direction of a painting hanging on the east wall.

The group walked over to study the piece more closely. It was a self portrait painted by Lavinia Fontana, a famous early female painter of the 1500’s. It showed the artist sitting at her writing desk, a pen in her right hand, resting on an open notebook, as if she had just paused in her writing. Her left hand was draped over the arm of the chair and the artist was looking pensively over her shoulder at the viewer. 

“She painted it in 1579,” remarked Mrs. Woodright, “the detail is amazing, don’t you think? The painting is priceless.”

“Looks like you got it back in perfect condition, Cousin Jeanne,” replied George, moving closer to the painting, “so everything turned out alright in the end.”

“That’s hardly the point, Cousin George,” said Mrs. Woodright, stiffly, “besides, another piece has been stolen and from right under my nose!”

“Yes, Dr. Baker told me,” replied Nancy, “can you tell me about that one.”

“It was one of my Mary Cassatts,” answered Jeanne, waving her hand over to a blank space on the wall across the room where the painting once hung. “Here, let me show you,” she added, moving to a small desk nearby and pulling out a photo album. “I photograph all of the pieces in my collection,” she said, opening the album and flipping through several pages, “for insurance purposes.”

She stopped and pointed to a photograph of a painting depicting a middle-aged woman wearing reading glasses and seated comfortably in an overstuffed chair. She was reading a newspaper. If one looked closer at the painting, a mirror could be seen showing, in reflection, the open page that the woman was reading. 

“This is called ‘Reading Le Figaro,” said Jeanne Woodright, “it was painted in 1878. You can almost imagine that the woman will look up from her newspaper at any moment to greet the viewer. That’s the genius of Cassatt. She loved to paint the everyday activities of average people, especially capturing their expressions. This painting is one of my favorites.”

“Have you contacted the police about the theft?” asked Ned, looking over Nancy’s shoulder at the photograph.

“No, gorgeous Ned!” exclaimed Cousin Jeanne, “absolutely not! I don’t want the police involved. If anyone in the art community knew of the thefts of artwork from my personal collection, I would be ruined! No one would ever do business with me again! Absolutely no police! This is why we’ve sought out Nancy. We need her to investigate…how should I put it… discreetly.” 

“Well, as I’ve told Cousin Philip,” replied Nancy, “I’m no art expert but I will do the best that I can.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Jeanne, smiling, “that’s all I ask.”

“I understand that you are an artist as well,” remarked Nancy, casually.

“Oh, to call me an artist is an exaggeration,” chuckled Cousin Jeanne, “I simply dabble, that’s all.”

Ned strolled over to examine the windows in the room as Nancy asked, “I assume that this room has an alarm system?” 

“Oh, yes!” replied Jeanne, “and I personally turn it on before I go to bed at night.”

“And how many servants do you have, Mrs. Woodright?” asked Nancy.

“Please call me Cousin Jeanne! Surely you don’t think that the servants are involved, do you?” replied Cousin Jeanne, somewhat shocked.

“We must investigate all possibilities,” smiled Nancy.

“Well, I don’t need a lot of help,” replied Jeanne, “since my husband died there is only me. I have a housekeeper Mabel, who also does the cooking, and Rose, who does the laundry and helps with cleaning.”

“How long have they been with you?” asked Nancy.

“Only a few months,” replied Cousin Jeanne, “after I let the long-time staff go. They had become impudent and lazy. It was time for a change,” she added stiffly.

“I see,” responded Nancy, “well, before we leave you, I’d like Bess and George to ask Mabel and Rose a few questions if that’s O.K., while Ned and I take a look around outside.”

“Certainly,” replied Jeanne, “the quicker you can solve this case the better!”

Ned and Nancy searched the ground around the house but could find no evidence of a break in or indication that the painting could have been removed through a window.

“This is very frustrating,” commented Nancy, as she and Ned returned to Nancy’s car. Ten minutes later Bess and George joined them. 

“So, what did you find out?” Nancy asked her chums.

“Both Mabel and Rose were hired through an agency,” replied Bess, “and Mrs. Woodright was right. They’ve only been working for her for about two months. They said that she pays well and that they hoped to stay on for quite a while.”

“Did they say anything about how they felt working for Cousin Jeanne?” Nancy asked, curiously.

“They were hesitant at first,” replied George, “but they both finally admitted that she was nice enough although a little odd.”

“That’s fairly obvious,” sighed Ned, sliding behind the wheel of the roadster, as Nancy handed him the keys.

“Did you find anything?” asked George, hopping into the rumble seat beside Bess.

“Not much,” answered Nancy, climbing in next to Ned, “there were no footprints underneath either window….”

“…and it looked as though the windows had not been opened in quite some time,” added Ned, “the dust on the window ledges has not been disturbed.”

“Which gives us our first clue,” replied Nancy, smiling.

“And what’s that?” asked Bess, “that Cousin Jeanne’s new help doesn’t clean properly?”

“No,” chuckled Nancy, “that the thefts of the paintings are most likely an inside job. Take us out of here, gorgeous Ned!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Good afternoon, madam,” he said, tipping his hat to the woman standing in the doorway, wearing an apron and holding a broom in her hand, “my name is Ned Nickerson and I’m trying to find the former housekeeper who worked next door at the Woodright’s residence.”

“Well I ain’t her!” exclaimed the woman rudely and she started to close the door.

Ned stuck his shoe in the door frame, preventing the door from closing. “No, of course not,” he replied, flashing her a charming smile, “which is too bad since there may be quite a lot of money coming that lady’s way.”

“Money you say?” replied the aproned woman, opening the door wide, “’ow much?”

“Well, I really can’t say,” responded Ned, “but enough, I’m sure, to throw a little to whoever helps me fine her.”

“Like a reward,” said the woman, raising her eyebrows, and unconsciously patting her large belly.

“Exactly,” remarked Ned, “so it might be worth your while to answer a few questions.”

“O.K. young man,” said the woman, motioning for Ned to enter, “I’ll take me chances and answer a few.”

“Thank you,” replied Ned, removing his hat and stepping inside.

“Come into the kitchen,” said the woman, “I don’t want to worry my mistress.”

Meanwhile, a few doors down, Nancy was speaking to a young maid named Irma.

“I’m not sure I should be speaking to you about this, Miss,” said Irma, who was quite literally shaking in her shoes.

“Please don’t worry,” replied Nancy gently, “we’re only trying to help Mrs. Woodright and, besides, whatever you tell me will remain our secret. I won’t tell another soul.”

“Well, O.K. then,” said Irma, nervously, “I’m real close to Freddy, who was Mr. Woodright’s man.”

“Man?” asked Nancy, puzzled.

“Yes, he was Mr. Woodright’s all around fella,” replied Irma, “sometimes he was the Butler, sometimes Mr. Woodright’s Valet, and sometimes the Chauffeur.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Nancy, “he sounds like a very valuable employee of the Woodright’s.”

“Yes,” replied the young woman, “he was. That’s why it was such a shock to us when he got the sack.”

“I understand that Mrs. Woodright did that right after her husband died,” asked Nancy.

“That’s right,” said Irma, nodding, “Mrs. Woodright sacked all the old help there. The housekeeper, maid, cook, gardener, and Freddy. I suppose her grievin’ her husband brought it on.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Nancy, softly, “do you happen to know where I might find any of those former employees? It’s very important that I do.”

“No, but I have a date…er, I mean…I’m meeting Freddy tomorrow afternoon,” stammered Irma with a blush, “it’s my afternoon off and, well, Freddy’s still my friend and all. He’s taking me to the picture show at the Regency in River Heights.”

“I completely understand, Irma,” smiled Nancy, reassuringly, “I have a friend like that myself. Can we meet up with you and Freddy somewhere before the show? Perhaps treat you both to ice cream?”

“Oh, that will be swell, Miss,” replied Irma, “that’s very kind of you.”

“Wonderful!” said Nancy, “well, let’s see. How about at Miss Fancy’s Ice Cream Parlor at 1:00? It’s right around the corner from the Regency.”

“Yes, I know the place!” exclaimed Irma, “1:00 will be fine. Thanks, Miss!”

Nancy gave the girl her card and headed down the walkway toward her car. She arrived just in time to see Ned running up the sidewalk and leaping into the roadster. He was somewhat disheveled with his brown hair ruffled, his tie pulled to one side, and his shirt gaping open.

“Good heavens,” Nancy cried, “what happened to you?”

“Quick, get in the car,” exclaimed Ned, putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine, “we’ve got to get out of here!”

Nancy jumped in the passenger seat as Ned put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and then glancing behind her, said “is there a dog after you?”

“No, a housekeeper,” replied Ned.

“A what?” asked Nancy, puzzled, and glancing again behind her.

“A crazy housekeeper named Mrs. O’Lary,” replied Ned, sheepishly, “Nancy, I’m afraid the Nickerson charm got out of hand, this time.”

“Ned Nickerson,” exclaimed Nancy, “pull over this minute and tell me what happened.”

Believing that they had now driven far enough, Ned nodded and pulled the car over to the curb and stopped. 

“Well, I did exactly what we discussed,” started Ned, “I went up to the door and knocked. A rather rude middle-aged woman, in a dirty apron, opened the door and glared at me. I took one look at her and figured I’d better pour on the charm if I had any chance of getting any information from her.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows but remained silent.

“She was a very hard nut to crack, so, when I wasn’t sure the Nickerson charm was working,” continued Ned, “I mentioned the possibility of reward money. That interested her enough to let me in but once we made it to the kitchen, she attacked me!”

“Attacked you!” cried Nancy, “you mean she hit you? Oh, Ned!”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, suddenly blushing deeply, “she grabbed me and planted a kiss on my cheek. She said I was the cutest thing she’d had in her kitchen in a long time. The next thing I knew, she picked me up right off my feet and threw me on top of the table. She started running her hand through my hair and tried to take off my tie. I was finally able to push her away and run out the back door!”

Nancy was trying very hard not to laugh but she couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks. 

“Nancy Drew!” cried Ned, “this isn’t the least bit funny! That crazy woman nearly scared the life out of me!”

“What is this amazing power you have over women?” Nancy was finally able to ask, wiping the tears from her face. When he didn’t answer, she looked over to see him looking down at his hands as they gripped the steering wheel. It was obvious that he was embarrassed and somewhat hurt. She leaned over and touched his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “the whole incident must have been very uncomfortable for you. We women are always on our guard against men doing that sort of thing, but I don’t imagine you guys ever think about finding yourselves in the same situation.”

Ned looked over at her, realization crossing his face. “Nancy, if I ever find out that a guy has done that to you…well…I’d have to break every bone in his body!” he said, indignantly.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she replied, “I’m sure you would.” She leaned over to kiss him but suddenly stopped, seeing the lipstick mark on Ned’s cheek. She smiled and pulled a handkerchief from her purse, gently wiping the mark from his face. “That’s better,” she said, finally kissing him, and then asked, “do me a favor, Nickerson?”

“Sure, Nancy, whatever you want,” said Ned, kissing her in return.

“Only use that Nickerson charm on me, O.K?” she replied, gently.

“You bet!” exclaimed Ned, “I didn’t realize it worked so well!”

“It always has,” Nancy replied softly, kissing him again before they started up the car and headed home.

On the following afternoon, they met Irma and Freddy at Miss Fancy’s Ice Cream Parlor. Nancy introduced Irma to Ned and Irma, in turn, introduce Freddy to Nancy. Nancy had been somewhat curious about Freddy since Mrs. Woodright had told her that she had fired her staff because they had become lazy and impudent. Freddy, however, appeared to be just the opposite. He was polite, engaging, and straightforward with Ned and Nancy and very kind to Irma, who seemed to hang on his every word.

“Here, Baby,” Freddy said to Irma, placing a hand on her arm, “don’t move. I’ll get up and get an extra napkin for you,” and he was up like a shot and at the service counter before Irma could respond.

“He’s so sweet,” Irma cooed, “he knows I’m on my feet a lot so he jumps up whenever I need something. He really spoils me.”

“We men like to spoil the women we love,” said Ned, smiling as he slid his hand into Nancy’s, resting in her lap just under the table.

“Oh! Do you think he loves me?” asked Irma, blushing.

“Well, I believe he at least likes you a whole lot,” replied Ned, carefully, “he definitely wants to impress you!”

“Well he’s already done that,” Irma replied, “I think he’s the cutest and nicest man I ever met! And he’s smart too! I just don’t understand why Mrs. Woodright let him go.”

“Here you go,” said Freddy, returning to the table. He handed Irma several napkins as he sat back down next to her.

“I was just telling Nancy that I don’t understand why Mrs. Woodright gave you the sack,” explained Irma.

“I’m not the only one she fired,” replied Freddy with a shrug, “she let the entire staff go! Got rid of all of us. And Mrs. Mayfair and Mr. Tobin had worked for her and Mr. Woodright for nearly twenty years. And suddenly, we were given the boot!”

“How did it happen?” asked Nancy, leaning forward, looking intently at Freddy.

“What to you mean?” he replied.

“Well, was Mrs. Woodright angry when she fired all of you?” Nancy explained, “or did she appear anxious or worried?”

“She didn’t appear at all!” answered Freddy.

“I don’t quite understand,” replied Nancy, “you mean she called you and dismissed each of you over the telephone?”

“What I mean is that she didn’t fire us in person,” said Freddy, “instead, she left each of us a note.”

“That sounds rather strange,” said Ned, “why not call all of you in and fire everyone at the same time?”

Nancy sat deep in thought. Finally, she asked, “Freddy, did this happen right after Mrs. Woodright lost her husband?”

“Yes, about two months after his funeral,” replied Freddy, digging a spoon into his ice cream sundae. “At first, we just thought poor Mrs. Woodright was out of her mind with grief and would take us back when she came to her senses. But it’s been about three months, now, and several of us have moved on to new jobs. I got lucky and found a position with the Smith’s.” 

“So, Mrs. Woodright buries her husband and then decides to fire her entire staff?” asked Nancy, again, for clarification.

“Yes, that’s right,” answered Freddy, nodding.

“Did anything happened in between that might have caused her to come to that decision?” 

“No. It actually came as a surprise because Mrs. Woodright had just come back from vacation and we figured that she’d be in good spirits,” replied Freddy.

“Mrs. Woodright went on vacation right after her husband died?” asked Ned.

“Yes. With her brother, Dr. Baker,” replied Freddy, “he probably thought that it might help her deal with her husband’s death. You know, take her mind off of it. Give her a change of scenery.”

“How long was she gone?” asked Nancy.

“Oh, about three weeks,” replied Freddy, “I remember that we all hoped she was having a nice time. Imagine that! Then, on the morning she was due back, she must have arrived early, because when we gathered for breakfast, there were these letters all lined up on the kitchen table, addressed to each one of us. They all said the same thing. That she had not been satisfied with our work for some time and we were all dismissed. She gave us only an hour to gather up our things and leave the property.”

“Golly!” exclaimed Irma, “why didn’t Mrs. Mayfair go talk to her?”

“She tried,” replied Freddy, “but Mrs. Woodright won’t speak to her. Just yelled at her through her bedroom door to leave at once and that she was tired after her long trip and was in bed.”

“And then she hires a new staff,” mused Nancy, “from an agency. And only two people to take the place of several!”

“So where do we go from here?” asked Ned, after they had said goodbye to Irma and Freddy and were making their way to Ned’s car.

“To the gallery that hosted the special women artists exhibition,” replied Nancy, “I want to know why it was held there and how Mrs. Woodright’s painting got stolen.”


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Eugene Phelps, the Director of the Bridgeport Gallery, was an elderly man of about seventy years of age. He greeted Nancy and Ned with a hardy handshake and a warm smile.

“Welcome to our little gallery, Miss. Drew,” he said in greeting, leading the way into the main room of the building. “Shall we talk in here?” he added, waving toward a comfortable grouping of chairs in the middle of the room. “I love to sit among the artwork.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Nancy, “this is my assistant, Ned Nickerson. We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us.”

“Yes, of course,” replied the Director, “the stealing of artwork is a serious crime. I am happy to help in any way I can.” 

“To begin with,” started Nancy, “why did the gallery decide to do a special exhibit on women artists?”

“Well, I must admit it’s been a dream of mine,” replied Mr. Phelps, “and it’s something I’ve been trying to persuade our Board of Directors to do for years. I don’t believe that women artist’s have ever gotten the recognition they deserve.”

When Nancy and Ned nodded, he continued, “I happen to be an expert on the work of Lavinia Fontana and when I found out that Mrs.Woodright had several of her paintings, as well as many other women’s works, I was able to get the board to agree that it was a good time to hold the exhibit.”

“It was a Fontana that was stolen, wasn’t it?” asked Ned.

“Yes, a wonderful piece,” sighed the Director, “I was very relieved when it was returned to Mrs. Woodright.”

“Did Mrs. Woodright have any hesitation in lending her art collection to the gallery?” asked Nancy.

“No, not at first,” replied Mr. Phelps, “in fact, she seemed rather keen on the idea and was very helpful. But after the Fontana was stolen, I was told that she was pretty angry. She didn’t even come down to the gallery herself to supervise the return of her other pieces. Just had everything packed up and delivered to her home. Completely understandable, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Nancy, “I understand that you had quite a lot of pieces in the exhibit. Does the gallery have on overnight security guard on duty?”

“Yes,” replied the director, “in fact, we have a security guard here around the clock during our special exhibits. That’s when we usually have our most valuable artwork on display.”

“On the night when the Fontana painting was stolen, did the security guard report anything out of the ordinary?” asked Nancy

“No, that’s the strange thing about all of this,” replied Mr. Phelps, “he did his rounds every fifteen minutes as usual. One moment the painting was there and the next moment it was gone. He reported never hearing or seeing anything.”

“Could the security guard have stolen it?” asked Ned, and, when Mr. Phelps gasped and violently shook his head, added, “I’m sorry but we really need to follow all leads.”

The gallery director swallowed hard and then took in a breath, “Of course. I understand. It’s just that the security guard has been with us for nearly twenty years and, in all that time, has never taken so much as a paperclip. I can say, with a fair amount of certainty, that Ed is not the thief.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” assured Nancy, “what was it about this piece that made it so tempting to a thief as opposed to the others?”

“Well, that’s very hard to say,” replied Mr. Phelps thoughtfully, “although it is very valuable, the Kauffman is even more so.”

“Is there perhaps more of a demand for Fontana’s on the black market?” asked Ned.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Phelps, “many people are currently interested in collecting her work. One could say that she’s very hot right now.” He paused for a moment lost in thought and then continued, “you see, Lavinia Fontana is regarded as the first female artist in Western Europe who collected a commission for her work. This is how she supported her family which included her husband and eleven children!”

“Golly,” exclaimed Ned, giving Nancy a wink, “eleven children! It’s a wonder that she found time to paint!” 

“It probably helped that her husband was the one who raised the children,” smiled Mr. Phelps, “he was also his wife’s agent.”

“Sounds like Mrs. Fontana was quite the career woman and definitely ahead of her time,” remarked Nancy, shooting a mock glare at Ned before adding, “we noticed that she painted quite a few self-portraits. Surely she would not have been able to sell these for enough money to support her large family.”

“Oh, no, the self-portraits were most likely done for personal enjoyment,” replied Mr. Phelps, “she actually began making money by painting small devotional works on copper, which became a popular gift to give others. But her real popularity came when she started painting the noblewomen of her community. She was so good at these portraits that she was in high demand and could charge large sums of money. One could say that she knew her worth, demanded it, and got it,” he added, smiling.

“Sounds like a woman I know,” Ned said, chuckling, “should she ever decide to charge for her services.”

“Oh?” replied the director, somewhat absently, but Nancy quickly asked, “could you show us where the painting was hanging when it was stolen?”

“Yes, over there on the east wall,” said Mr. Phelps, pointing across the room, “where the Andrew Morrison is now hanging.”

Nancy stood and walked over to examine to wall. As she did so, she purposely passed behind Ned, giving him a light smack on the back of his head. She heard him let out a soft yelp and then a chuckle.

As expected, Nancy could find nothing unusual about the wall of the gallery where the Lavinia Fontana painting had once hung. Next, she moved to examine two windows in the hallway directly outside of the main room. There was no sign that the windows had been opened.

“We never open those,” stated Mr. Phelps, “the wiring for our alarm system runs along the windowpanes. If anyone were to try and enter the gallery through the windows, they would set off the alarm.”

At that moment, the gallery director left the hallway to answer the telephone and Nancy gazed out to see Ned examining the ground below. He had gone outside to search for footprints and was now stooped over gently brushing the grass and dirt from the area under the windows. He had removed his hat and his wavy brown hair glistened in the sun. 

Nancy took a moment to look at her boyfriend objectively. She remembered how Jeanne Woodright had openly flirted with Ned and that Mrs. O’Lary, the strange housekeeper, had kissed him. She realized, much to her surprise, that she had never really looked at him as perhaps others did. 

Anyone could see that he was handsome. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had an athletic build. His large soft brown eyes could make a girl melt inside and Nancy, herself, loved listening to his low masculine voice. But there was something more to him than just his looks. He was patient, kind, and generous and his loyalty to her was undeniable. Through the years that they had dated, he had certainly sacrificed far more for her than she had for him. He was simply the most wonderful man that she had ever met, and she realized how deeply she loved him. And, for some strange sentimental reason, watching him sweep the ground below, made her heart leap into her throat. 

At that moment, he looked up and caught her looking down at him, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. Worried, he silently mouthed, “is everything alright?”

Embarrassed, Nancy quickly wiped her eyes, and, smiling down at him, nodded, “yes.”

“You’re acting very silly, Drew,” she said to herself with a shake of her head, “you’d better pull yourself together before people suspect that you’ve lost your mind.”

Ned came inside the gallery just as Mr. Phelps finished his phone call and returned to Nancy.

“That was Mrs. Woodright on the telephone,” he exclaimed, “she wanted you to know that the Mary Cassatt painting has just been returned to her!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There was a knock on the door and, when I answered it, there it was!” exclaimed Jeanne Woodright, “it was leaning right up against the door frame. I couldn’t believe it!”

Nancy and Ned had driven over immediately from the gallery and they now stood gazing at the Mary Cassatt painting, “Reading Le Figaro”. It was propped up on a chair in the middle of the foyer.

“Was it wrapped in the same type of brown paper as the Fontana?” asked Nancy, leaning closer to study the painting.

“No,” replied Mrs. Woodright, “it was unwrapped, just as you see it now.”

“That seems strange,” said Ned, “one would think that a valuable painting like this would be protected from possible damage.” He had brought Nancy’s fingerprint kit in from the car and now handed it to her. He watched as she very carefully dusted the frame, mindful not to get anything on the painting itself.

“Hum,” she murmured softly, “that’s odd although not too surprising.”

“What is?” asked Jeanne Woodright, looking first at Nancy and then back at the painting.

“No fingerprints,” replied Nancy.

“Which means that the culprit most likely wore gloves,” replied Mrs. Woodright.

“Yes, exactly,” nodded Nancy, “but that fact alone is puzzling. If the individual was smart enough to wear gloves to steal the painting from your house, why return it? And, if the individual returned the painting because they are not thieves and didn’t mean to steal it, why wear gloves.”

“Ah, I get it,” interjected Ned, “a professional thief would have worn gloves but would definitely not have risked returning the painting. Yet, someone who stole the painting by accident, or perhaps was covering for someone else, would not necessarily remember to wear gloves. They most likely would have left prints.”

“Exactly!” answered Nancy, smiling fondly at Ned, “we’re dealing with either a very smart innocent person or a very clever, yet confusing, professional thief!”

“Well, I don’t care who it is!” exclaimed Jeanne Woodright, suddenly, “now that my Cassatt is back, the case is closed! It appears that I no longer need your services, Nancy Drew,” and she quickly grabbed Nancy by the elbow and led the somewhat stunned couple out the front door.

“Don’t you want Nancy to discover who stole both of your paintings in the first place?” asked Ned, turning to Mrs. Woodright.

“No, it would be a waste of time,” answered Jeanne Woodright, “the thief is most likely long gone by now. Goodbye!” she added with a wave as she quickly closed the door behind them.

Ned and Nancy stood on the front porch for several minutes, stunned, before turning toward the car.

“That is one of the craziest women we’ve ever encountered,” exclaimed Ned, as they drove down the driveway.

“Crazy like a fox, perhaps,” mused Nancy, “something fishy is going on here, Ned, and I’m going to find out exactly what it is!”

“I was afraid you’d say that!” replied Ned, with a moan, but he was smiling, “there’s no way you’d be put off that easily!”

That night, Nancy drove over to George’s house to talk to her about the case. She was delighted to find that Bess was also there.

“I don’t get it,” replied Nancy, “one moment, your cousins Jeanne and Philip are begging me to take the case and the next moment they say I’m no longer needed. And this is before I even get a chance to start really working on it!”

“That does seem strange, Nance,” agreed George, “but you know that they’ve been really nervous about the authorities getting involved. Perhaps Cousin Jeanne figured that now that both of her paintings were returned to her, there was no harm done.”

“I’d be worried that another piece might be stolen,” replied Bess, as she reached over to take another cookie, “after all, the other two disappeared rather quickly.”

The girls were seated around the kitchen table in the Fayne house, enjoying a glass of milk and an assortment of freshly baked cookies.

“My thoughts exactly,” added Nancy, “won’t you want to know that the thief has been brought to justice and that the rest of your collection is safe?”

“Indeed, I would,” replied George, somewhat defensively, “but as I’ve said before, the Fayne side of the family is rather odd. And, now that I think of it, very secretive. In fact, I was surprised when Cousin Philip asked me about hiring you in the first place.”

“Well, at least you can spend more time with Ned now that you’re off the case,” said Bess, dreamily.

“Yes,” replied Nancy, thoughtfully, “that’s always nice.” 

But there was something very puzzling about this mystery and her intuition told her not to let it go. 

“What would make someone steal two valuable paintings and then return them,” she asked her chums.

“Oh dear,” murmured Bess, “she’s not going to give up on this.”

“Money to cause someone to steal them,” replied George, “and remorse to make someone return them.”

“Or, perhaps, to cover up some other crime,” mused Nancy.

“What do you mean?” asked Bess, anxiously, “like murder?”

“Perhaps,” replied Nancy, nodding, “but I would think that a murderer would do something more drastic, like leave town, not hang around stealing and returning paintings.”

“Hey!” responded George, glaring at Nancy and Bess, “this is my family we’re talking about! They may be odd, but I don’t believe they’re killers.”

“I’m sorry, George,” Nancy responded sincerely, though a bit surprised at George’s reaction. “I don’t mean to insult your family. It’s just a theory, but we must acknowledge that anything is possible.”

“Well, I think it would be more beneficial to look at things that are more probable than not,” countered George, her feelings still injured.

“I agree,” nodded Nancy, softly “so, let’s start with the paintings themselves. Perhaps there’s something about those two that is different from the others in the exhibition. Randolph gave me a list. I intend to study the other works as well as those in Mrs. Woodright’s house. I wonder if Cousin Jeanne will let me take another look at her personal collection?”

“It’s worth a try,” replied George, regaining some of her composure, “and we’ll go with you, even though my cousin Jeanne drives me crazy! I’ll call her in the morning to let her know we’re coming.”

However, when Nancy arrived the next morning to pick up Bess and George, she found both girls standing in the Fayne’s driveway, looking very troubled. 

“Cousin Jeanne said that she’s too busy to see us today,” said George, angrily, “and she made it very clear that we were not welcome.”

“How very odd,” replied Nancy, “I wonder why?”

“Perhaps we upset her for some reason,” stated Bess, looking worriedly between Nancy and George.

“Did you explain that we just want to study her collection?” asked Nancy, “we don’t need to bother her. In fact, she doesn’t even need to be there.”

“Yes, I mentioned that,” replied George, becoming upset, “and that’s what really set her off. She started yelling at me and telling me that she had made it clear to you that the case was closed!” 

“Oh boy!” murmured Bess, “people shouldn’t say that to Nancy until she’s solved it. This only piques your interest, doesn’t it, Nance?” she added, looking at her friend.

“Yes!” exclaimed Nancy, “you bet it does! There is something very strange going on here! I’m going to drive over to Jeanne Woodright’s house anyway to see what I can find out. Want to come with me?”

“No!” shouted George, “my cousin has made it very clear that we’re not invited. I should think that you’d respect her wishes!”

“Well, I’m your cousin too, George Fayne!” Bess shouted back at George, “and Nancy’s friend. I would think that after all these years, you’d learn to trust Nancy’s instincts.”

George did not respond but, instead, stood with her arms crossed, glowering at the two girls as Nancy and Bess slid into Nancy’s roadster.

“Please George,” said Nancy, attempting one last time to convince her friend, “I may need your help. Please come with us.”

“Bess is going with you,” replied George over her shoulder as she headed back to her house, “I’m sure she’ll be very helpful!” 

“I wonder what’s gotten into her,” remarked Bess, as they drove to Mrs. Woodright’s house, “she’s really taking this much to seriously!”

“Well, in her defense, I suppose it’s pretty hard to hear that your family may be involved in some sort of serious crime,” replied Nancy, carefully navigating the roadster through traffic, “one can hardly blame her.”

“Well, I can blame her!” said Bess, with disgust, “she’s acting like an idiot!”

Silently agreeing, Nancy decided to say nothing more on the subject as they drove on, arriving at Cousin Jeanne’s home around forty-five minutes later. Nancy parked the car around the corner, deciding it might be best to approach on foot so that she and Bess could do some sleuthing of the property unnoticed.

“I should have worn my walking shoes,” Bess lamented, looking down at her new pumps. They were tan and white, with a little bow adorning each strap. Bess had just purchased them the day before. “I didn’t know that we’d be hiking through mud and tall grass.”

“I’d hardly call this a hike,” whispered Nancy, as they quietly made their way to the house, “we’re only going a few yards around to the back of the property.”

“Well, I hope they don’t get ruined,” replied Bess, “the saleswoman said these were the very last pair they had in the shop and….”

“Bess!” Nancy quietly exclaimed, “look over there!”

They quickly ducked behind a hedgerow that boarded along the edge of the property. Nancy pointed to a rather large bonfire ablaze in the Woodright’s backyard. Mabel, the housekeeper, was throwing a handful of papers on the flames. 

“I wonder why she’s doing that?” wondered Nancy.

“Perhaps she’s doing some housecleaning and Cousin Jeanne didn’t need those papers anymore,” replied Bess.

“Hum,” said Nancy, adding “let’s get closer.” 

They moved quietly along the hedges, stopping just in time to see Jeanne Woodright coming from the back door of the house. She held several cardboard tubes under one arm and an album in her hands.

“Here,” she said to Mabel, handing her the items, “burn these also!”

“Are you sure, Ma’am?” asked Mabel, puzzled, “these are your sketches. Might you want to keep them?”

“Don’t argue with me!” shouted Mrs. Woodright, “if I wanted to keep them, I won’t be handing them to you to burn, now would I?”

“That looks like the photo album of her collection!” said Nancy to herself, “I wonder why she’s going to burn it? Is she trying to destroy evidence?”

Suddenly Bess, who was a few feet behind Nancy, stepped on a twig, snapping it in two. Mrs. Woodright heard the sound and, looking sharply over in the direction of the hedgerow, said, “did you hear that?”

“I think that’s just the fire, Ma’am,” replied the housekeeper.

“No, it sounded like it came from over there,” said Mrs. Woodright, pointing in the direction of the hidden girls. “Get the dogs, Mabel! We’ll let them investigate!”

“Oh no!” whispered Bess, turning on her heels. But Nancy reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her retreat.

“Don’t move, Bess!” warned Nancy, “this may be a trick to flush us out of our hiding place. Besides, I need to get that album!”

“Have you lost your mind, Nancy Drew?” hissed Bess, “we’re about to be attacked by a pack of wild dogs and all you can think about is getting hold of a stupid old album?”

Mabel dropped the cardboard tubes and album on top of the fire and headed toward the house. In the meantime, Jeanne Woodright started in the direction of the hedgerow. Nancy and Bess crouched lower and held their breaths but just before they could be discovered, Philip Baker came from around the corner, calling out to his sister.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, “I’d been ringing your front bell for ages before that daft maid of yours finally answered and told me you were in the back yard! Why can’t you hire good help?”

“Oh, never mind!” replied Jeanne, with a flip of her hand, “it’s only for a short time! We’ll be through in a few more days and then the whole lot of them can go to blazes!”

Nancy watched the album starting to burn as brother and sister turned and walked back inside the house. “Now’s my chance,” she said to herself, and she leapt out from behind the hedgerow and rushed toward the fire. Grabbing the end of one of the cardboard tubes that had not yet caught, she used it to push the album out of the fire and onto the ground. She stomped out the few flames that had caught hold, and snatching it up, ran back to the hedgerow. 

“Here, hold this,” she said to Bess, handing her the cardboard tube, and wiping the album clear of dirt and soot, “I rescued this just in time!”

“Listen!” gasped Bess, “the dogs!”

The loud barking of dogs could be heard racing through the house. The girls did not wait to see them exit from the back door, instead taking off in a desperate race back to Nancy’s car. As they rounded the corner, Nancy reached into her skirt pocket and brought out her keys, unlocking the car in a matter of seconds. She and Bess jumped in and closed the doors, waiting a minute to catch their breaths.

“Phew!” exclaimed Bess, shaking, “that was close!”

Nancy nodded and, handing Bess the album to hold on her lap, turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb. As they passed by the Woodright house, they could see Mabel chasing behind two small pug dogs, who were frantically sniffing and barking around the hedgerow.

“There’s your pack of wild dogs, Bess!” said Nancy, laughing.

Bess at first would not be mollified, commenting, “all dogs bite, Nancy!” But soon she, too, was laughing, as the two started their journey home.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, how’s my favorite fella,” said Nancy, into the telephone.

“I hope I’m your only fella,” said the lovely deep masculine voice at the other end.

“Hum, yeah, sure,” teased Nancy, “absolutely! Ah, what did you say your name was?”

“Nancy, please,” said Ned, suddenly serious, “this isn’t funny. I have nightmares about this sort of thing.”

“You do?” asked Nancy, surprised to hear the anguish in his voce, “really? why, Ned?”

“Well, I suppose it’s because you’re so wonderful and can have any guy you want,” he answered, “and, deep down, I often wonder why you’re with me.”

“It could have something to do with the fact that I’m madly in love with you,” replied Nancy, softly, “and, deep down, I often wonder why you’re with me when you could have any one of those cute college girls you see in class every day.”

There was a pause at the end of the telephone and then, with relief in his voice, Ned said, “what cute college girls? I’m so in love with you that I suppose I’m blinded to anyone else.” 

“As am I, Ned Nickerson,” replied Nancy, “so, sweetheart, what brought this on? Surely you know that I love you?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Ned, finally, “I’m sorry to sound so despondent. I had a rather bad day today and I suppose that’s put me in a foul mood.”

“Want to tell me about it?” asked Nancy, settling back on her pillows. She didn’t like hearing the usually upbeat Ned so depressed.

“Well, it started with my not being able to spend the day with you,” he began, “I really missed you! I love my father but playing golf with him and his buddies can be trying, at times. I played very badly. Then, on the way home, I stopped by a newsstand to pick up a paper and ran into Don Cameron.”

“My ex?” replied Nancy, resting the phone receiver between her chin and shoulder so that she could examine a fingernail that she had broken while rescuing the album from the fire.

“Yeah, your ex,” answered Ned, sullenly, “he kept asking about you. Whether we were still together, were you still running around chasing suspects, do you still like to go dancing.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” replied Nancy, “I suppose he really doesn’t have much else to talk with you about.”

Ned didn’t respond and after a long period of silence Nancy finally asked, “Ned? You weren’t jealous, were you?”

She heard him clear his throat and then say, “Yes, I suppose I was, a little.”

“Oh, Ned!” she replied, with a groan, “Don and I dated in high school. We lasted less than a year. He’s a nice enough guy but we had absolutely nothing in common. I didn’t love him. And remember, I was the one who broke up with him.”

“Well, I hate to admit it, but he really got to me,” admitted Ned, “I came very close to punching him in the nose!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Nancy, “Don isn’t worth it.” She paused for a moment and then said, “why do I get the feeling that something worse has happened than missing me, a terrible golf game, and an ex-boyfriend from high school?”

“I should know better than to try to hide something from Detective Drew,” sighed Ned, “you’re right, of course. When I finally arrived home, my mother told me that my cousin Susan and her husband have filed for divorce.”

“Oh no, Ned!” exclaimed Nancy, sitting up, “not Susan!” Now she understood. He and his cousin were very close and, other than Ned’s own parents, Susan’s marriage to Tom had always been regarded as the most ideal. The one that everyone in the family hoped to emulate. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” answered Ned sadly, “it appears that Tom has found someone else. Susan had no idea, although my mom finds that hard to believe. She says that there are always signs.”

“Ned, I’m so sorry!” replied Nancy, “I know that you and Susan are close. I like Susan, too. She’s wonderful. This must be a terrible shock to the family!”

“Yes,” Ned agreed, “we’re all rallying around her. Half of us want things to work out between them while the other half want to kill Tom and hide his body. It’s all pretty much a mess but you know how families are…we tend to protect our own, whether it’s right or wrong.”

Nancy’s thoughts immediately went to George. Yes, right or wrong, family ties could definitely be very strong. 

“No wonder you sound so sad,” replied Nancy, “if it wasn’t so late, I’d drive over and hold you in my arms until you felt better.”

“That could take all night,” Ned chucked.

“You never give up, do you Nickerson?” said Nancy, blushing, although she was happy to hear him sounding better. “Just for that, I have half a mind not to tell you about the wild pack of dogs that nearly tore Bess and me apart.”

“Nancy! You’re kidding,” replied Ned, in shock.

By the time Nancy finished telling him the story of her visit to Jeanne Woodright’s, Ned couldn’t stop laughing between periods of being concerned. They talked deep into the night, both unwilling to say goodnight.

It was just after 8:00am, when Nancy awoke that morning and came down for breakfast. She carried the album down with her and found her father just finishing a stack of hotcakes. She bent down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek as she slid into her chair and smiled at Hannah.

“I’d love some hotcakes too, Hannah,” she requested, “’I’m hungry this morning.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Hannah, handing her a plate, “apple juice or orange juice?”

“Orange, please,” answered Nancy, placing the album on the table between her and her father.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“It’s an album containing photographs of the artwork in Mrs. Woodright’s collection,” answered Nancy, her eyes gleaming.

“What happened to it?” asked Carson Drew, pushing his empty plate to one side, “it looks like it’s been in a fire.”

“It has been,” replied Nancy, “and it would have been completely burned had I not gotten to it in time. Mrs. Woodright was having it destroyed.”

“Why would she do that, I wonder?” replied Mr. Drew, opening the album and flipping through the photographs.

“Exactly what I want to know!” said Nancy, “she told us that she needed the photographs for insurance purposes.”

“Perhaps these are old copies and she’s had new ones taken?” her father replied.

“That’s possible, of course,” Nancy said, thoughtfully, “but my intuition says otherwise. There might be another reason that I haven’t figured out yet,” she added as her father handed the book back to her and started on a bowl of fruit. 

She absentmindedly turned the pages for a few minutes before turning to him and asking, “Dad, is it considered ‘breaking and entering’ if you gain access to a house but don’t take anything but a few photographs?”

“Daughter dear,” responded Carson Drew, looking up at her, “I will assume that you’re asking me this question as a purely academic exercise, is that right?”

“Of course, Dad,” replied Nancy, giving him an innocent look, “strictly academic.”

“It depends on what you mean by gaining access. ‘Breaking and entering’ is the action of entering someone’s house without permission,” replied her father, “it has nothing to do with what you do once you get in. If a person takes something, then that’s burglary, which often goes hand-in-hand with breaking and entering but is its own crime.”

“Oh,” Nancy pondered, “then one needs to be careful to get permission before one enters.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Drew, stabbing a piece of pineapple, “if one wishes to remain out of jail.” 

Nancy called Ned right after breakfast and was told by Mrs. Nickerson that Ned was, if fact, on his way over to River Heights to see her.

The doorbell rang just has she was hanging up the telephone. As she approached the front door, she glanced through the hallway window and saw Ned’s car parked at the curb in front of her house. She flung it open and came face-to-face with a large bouquet of flowers. Hidden behind them was Ned.

“Oh, Ned!” Nancy gasped, “they’re beautiful!”

“Beautiful flowers,” said Ned, handing her the bouquet, “for my very beautiful lady!” 

As Nancy took the flowers, she reached up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss.

“You really are wonderful, you know that?” said Nancy, giving his ear a little tug, “what have I done to deserve flowers?”

“Does there need to be a reason?” asked Ned, “I bought them because I love you.”

“That’s very sweet,” replied Nancy, starting down the hallway in search of a vase, “I just tried to call you, but your mother told me that you were on your way here. Are you up for a little sleuthing?”

Ned chuckled and took Nancy’s hand. “Absolutely, Detective Drew,” he asked, “what’s on the agenda?”

“Oh, just a little breaking and entering,” she replied smiling, “lucky I know a good lawyer!”

Nancy and Ned were on their way to Mrs. Woodright’s home a short while later. Their plan was simple. They would stop by a payphone and place a call to Jeanne Woodright. Disguising his voice, Ned would identify himself as a clerk at the post office, telling her that she had a certified package waiting for her and would have to come down, herself, to pick it up. They would wait for her to leave, and then coax the maid, Rose, into letting them enter the premises. The excuse Nancy planned to use was that she had lost a valuable earring and she would, indeed, look around for one. In the meantime, Ned would enter Jeanne Woodright’s gallery and take photographs of all of the paintings in her collection.

“Are you sure I’ll have time to take photos of them all?” Ned asked Nancy, as they sat in Nancy’s car across the street from the Woodright’s house, “it’s an awfully large collection.”

“Hum, good point,” replied Nancy, “how about starting with all the paintings done by female artists. I have a feeling those may provide us our first real clue!”

They only had to wait a matter of minutes before Jeanne Woodright came out of her front door muttering under her breath. She got into her car and was soon on her way.

“She didn’t look very happy,” observed Ned, removing his camera case from the rumble seat and slinging it onto his shoulder, “we’d better be in and out as quickly as we can!”

Nancy nodded and hurried up the front steps with Ned close behind her. Her knock was answered, not by Rose, but by an unknown young woman wearing a maid’s outfit.

“Yes?” said the woman, politely.

“Is Rose in, please?” asked Nancy, folding her hands in front of her. 

“Rose?” replied the woman, 

“Yes,” replied Nancy patiently, “I believe that she works here as a maid.”

“Oh,” answered the woman, “she was let go yesterday. I’m Marie, Mrs. Woodright’s new maid. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, yes, perhaps,” answered Nancy, giving Marie her best worried look, “you see, we were here a few days ago visiting Mrs. Woodright, when I believe I lost one of my earrings. I wonder if I might come in and look around. It may have rolled under the couch, or somewhere. It won’t take but a minute.”

“Well, I’m not sure,” replied Marie, looking somewhat dubious, “Madam isn’t home and I’m not sure she would be very happy with folks snooping around. Perhaps you should come back later.” 

She made a move to close the door when Ned stepped forward, removing his hat, and leaned in slightly to address the young woman.

“We do understand,” he said, shooting her a charming smile, “but, you see, we’re not just ‘folks’. We are Mr. and Mrs. Oglesby, and we are customers of Mrs. Woodrights. We’ve purchased several of her paintings.”

Marie stopped, and stepped back very slightly, still unsure as to what to do.

“And, well, it’s quite an embarrassing situation,” Ned continued, shifting his weight from side to side and looking solemn, “you see, my wife’s earrings were given to her by my mother as a wedding present and well…”

“We’re on our way to her home now,” added Nancy, picking up on Ned’s tall tale, “and my mother-in-law specifically asked that I wear the earrings.”

“Oh…” was all the maid could think to say, but she opened the door wider.

“If my wife shows up without them,” continued Ned, gently stepping through the door to stand by Marie, “um, well, let’s just say that mother has a wicked temper!”

“And I can’t show up wearing just one earring, can I?” said Nancy, giving Marie a “you know how mother-in-laws can be” look, and stepping inside to join Ned. Before the maid could stop her, she proceeded to the living room, looking over her shoulder to say to Ned, “Darling, why don’t you take another peek at that Fontana although I do think that Jeanne is asking much too much for it.”

At first, Marie hovered in the living room while Nancy searched for the make-believe earring but soon realized that this might take longer than expected and she had work to be done before Mrs. Woodright returned. She didn’t want to get the sack like Rose. 

Nancy, sensing Marie’s trepidation, said in a rather dismissive manner, “Oh, you don’t need to wait on me. My husband and I will see ourselves out,” she added, flipping her hand to a relieved Marie. The young woman quickly left the room.

Nancy could not believe their luck in encountering someone who hadn’t seen her and Ned during their first visit. However, she didn’t know if Mabel was still around nor did she want to risk being caught by Cousin Jeanne. Pretending to look for the earring did give her the opportunity to search the living room for clues and she made a quick glance at the items on the coffee table before pulling open the desk drawers. She found nothing but a stack of letters, blank stationary, pens, and some stamps. 

“Nothing unusual here,” she thought to herself, keeping an ear out for the sound of Jeanne Woodright’s car. All she heard was the sound of flashbulbs, as Ned hurriedly took photographs of the paintings in the next room.

She picked up the stack of letters and flipped through them, finding nothing of interest until she came to one baring a postmark from The Netherlands, with the return address of the Rijksmuseum. Curious, Nancy pulled out the letter and read, “Dear Mrs. Woodright, 

This is to inform you that we have received the Angelica Kauffmann painting, “Portrait of Cornelia Knight”. Dr. Baker delivered it yesterday on his way through Amsterdam. However, we are dismayed to inform you that we believe that the painting may be a forgery and not the same painting that our representative viewed and purchased from your private collection when in the United States last month. 

We have called in a specialist who will examine the piece on Tuesday. In the meantime, we request that you contact us immediately regarding this matter.

Sincerely, Dr. Willem J. Van de Berg, Director, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, Netherlands.”

The letter was dated two weeks ago, and Nancy wondered if Cousin Jeanne had contacted Dr. Van de Berg. 

“I have a feeling that she didn’t,” she mused, slipping the letter into her pocket before returning the stack to the drawer and closing it. Moving quickly across the hallway to the gallery, she found Ned busily snapping photos. 

“I’ve found something very interesting in a desk drawer,” she told him. She then spotted a painting hanging on the east wall. “Ned, have you taken a photo of this one, yet?” she asked him, pointing in the direction of the art piece.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’ve just finished photographing every painting on that wall and on the west wall,” he added, screwing a fresh light bulb into his camera. Suddenly he and Nancy heard the screech of tires turning into the Woodright driveway.

“Quick!” exclaimed Nancy, as Ned dropped his camera into the case and slung it back over his shoulder, “let’s get out of here!”

They glanced out the window to see Jeanne Woodright angrily stepping out of her car and walking up the front walkway. As she approached, they could hear her loudly exclaiming, “Fools! Complete waste of time! What is the post office coming too these days!”

“Out the back,” Ned suggested, as he and Nancy dashed down the hallway in the directions of the kitchen.

Just as they disappeared around the corner, they heard the front door open and Jeanne Woodright’s voice, shouting, “Maid! Where are you?”, and then the sound of the front door as she slammed it shut behind her. “Agnes….I mean Rose…er…Marie! Come here and take my coat, lazy girl”, she yelled, as Nancy and Ned made their escape through the kitchen.

To their relief, they found no one there and they made their way to the back door, quietly opening it, and stepping out into the back yard. After Ned gently closed the door behind them, Nancy took his hand and led him to the familiar hedgerow that had been the hiding place for her and Bess the day before. They slipped behind it and made their way to the curb, stepping out onto the sidewalk a few feet away.

“Phew!” exclaimed Ned, as he and Nancy walked briskly to the car, “that was close!”

“Yes!” agreed Nancy, sliding behind the wheel as Ned joined her on the passenger side, “I think that it’s time we talk with my father.” 

“Really?” asked Ned.

“Yes,” replied Nancy, “if my hunch is right, we are dealing with a very dangerous gang of criminals!”


	6. Chapter 6

That evening, as they waited for Mr. Drew to return home from his office, Nancy and Ned studied the photographs in the album, comparing them with those taken by Ned. On their way back to River Heights from Mrs. Woodrights, they had stopped at a friend of Ned’s who had a dark room in his basement and had the ability to develop Ned’s film while they waited. 

Nancy took out her magnifying glass and looked closely at the photograph in the album of Lavinia Fontana’s self portrait. She then compared it to the photograph that Ned had taken of the same painting just hours before. She could not detect anything unusual about either picture.

She turned to the album’s picture of “Reading Le Figaro” by Mary Cassatt and compared it to Ned’s picture. Again, she could not see any difference.

Ned was sitting close beside her on the couch, and they had the album, and Ned’s photos, spread out in front of them on the Drew’s coffee table. Nancy sighed and, leaning back against Ned, rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“It’s no use,” she said, in frustration, “there must be a clue somewhere in these pictures but I can’t seem to find it!”

“You will, sweetheart,” Ned replied, wrapping his arm around her, “perhaps it might be best to step away for a moment. After dinner, these photos might present themselves more clearly.” 

“Is this advice coming from your sharp mind or your empty stomach,” Nancy teased, glancing up at the clock on the mantel. She hadn’t realized that it was nearly dinnertime and her father should be home very soon.

Ned chuckled. “A little of both, I think,” he replied, “but I have to admit that my stomach is the stronger of the two.”

Nancy stood and, grabbing both of Ned’s hands, pulled him off the couch. “Let’s see if Hannah needs our help,” she suggested, adding “Dad should be home any minute.”

They had just finished setting the table when they heard Mr. Drew’s car pull into the driveway, followed by a second vehicle.

“I wonder who that could be,” said Nancy, going to the window and looking out. “why, it’s Bess and George! I wonder what brings them by at a time like this?”

“Perhaps they’re hungry,” Ned replied with a grin, “after all, Hannah’s cooking is famous!”

Nancy grinned at him in return, before going to the door to greet her father and her friends. 

“Hi Dad!” she said, giving her father a kiss and taking his hat. 

“Hello, daughter,” replied Carson Drew, patting her on the shoulder, “Bess and George are right behind me. Hi, Ned.”

“Hello, sir,” replied Ned, entering the hallway to stand behind Nancy, just as Bess and George reached the front door.

“Hello, Bess! Hello, George!” Nancy greeted her friends, “what brings you here this fine evening?”

“There is nothing fine about this evening, Nancy Drew!” exclaimed George, glaring at Nancy. 

Startled, Nancy stood silently, but noticed that Bess, who was standing just behind her cousin, looked very uncomfortable. 

Then, struggling to retain her composure, Nancy asked, “what do you mean, George?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” replied George, angrily, her face turning red, “we just received a call from Cousin Philip. He said that Cousin Jeanne was told by her maid that a young couple, posing as art buyers, conned their way into her home and searched it. From the maid’s description, it must have been you and Ned!”

“Listen here, George,” said Ned, stepping beside Nancy, but George cut him off before he could continue.

“Cousin Jeanne and Cousin Philip are very angry!” George shouted, clenching her fists, “they specifically told you to drop the case! Now my father’s angry. He has forbidden me to have anything further to do with you! And I don’t blame him. You are out to destroy my family. How could you, Nancy!” and with that, she turned on her heels and headed for the door.

“George!” called Nancy, “wait, I can explain.”

“It’s too late!” was George’s reply, “you’ve gone too far this time.”

Bess turned to follow her cousin, looking back at Ned and Nancy with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry, Nancy,” she said, “I’m sure George will calm down in a few days and then we can all be friends again.” She hurried down the sidewalk, catching up with George at the car.

Ned put his hands on Nancy’s shoulders as the two of them stood in shocked silence watching George’s car pull away from the curb and disappear down the street.

“What was that all about?” asked her father, coming back towards them. He had stopped at the foot of the staircase when he had heard the commotion.

“It means that I’m getting closer to solving this case,” replied his daughter, softly, “and it’s making a few people very nervous.”

“Like the Fayne family?” asked Mr. Drew.

“More like their cousins,” Nancy answered, “but I’m not giving up!” she declared, turning to look at Ned and her father. 

“Even if it means losing one of your best friends,” said Ned, sympathetically.

“Even then,” replied Nancy, firmly. But there were tears in her eyes.

Although still shaken by her encounter with George, Nancy, nevertheless, updated her father on the details of the case during dinner. Ned chuckled as Nancy described how they managed to talk their way into the Woodright home. 

“It was Ned who actually came up with the story about us being Jeanne Woodright’s customers,” she added, nodding to Ned.

“I remembered that Dr. Baker had mentioned that his sister was an art dealer,” replied Ned, as he swallowed a piece of roast beef, “and I figured that Marie would be more hesitant to block our entrance if we were potential buyers.”

“But why a married couple?” asked Carson Drew, passing the platter of potatoes to Nancy.

“Because it added to the importance of finding my missing earring,” smiled Nancy, “you know, having an ill-tempered mother-in-law who gave it to me as a wedding present.”

“I can assure you that my mother would never yell at Nancy for losing anything that she gave her,” replied Ned, so involved in his dinner that he didn’t notice Mr. Drew’s raised eyebrows or Nancy’s blush.

“I’m relieved to know that, Ned,” replied Nancy’s father, solemnly, and with a wink at his daughter, which caused her to blush even deeper, he added, “when Edith becomes my daughter’s mother-in-law.”

Suddenly realizing what he had said, Ned looked up, turned red, and stammered, “Er…, I mean…”

“Never mind,” chuckled Carson, and turning to Nancy, asked, “so why the need for new photographs when you already had the album?”

“Because the paintings, themselves, may give us a clue,” said Nancy, and she told him about the letter from the Netherlands. “I want to see if any of the pieces in Jeanne Woodright’s current collection are fakes and it might be helpful to compare them to the original photos that were taken when she first acquired them.”

“The comparison won’t reveal anything if Mrs. Woodright bought fakes in the first place,” proposed her father.

“Yes, that’s true,” sighed Nancy, “but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

Later that evening, as she walked Ned to his car, he reminded Nancy that he would be returning to Emerson the following Monday.

“Today is Friday,” Nancy replied, sadly, “it feels as though we’ve spent all of our time together working on this case! I’m so sorry, Ned!”

“It’s O.K., Nancy,” replied Ned, “we agreed that you should take it and, besides, I don’t really care what we’re doing as long as we’re together.”

Nancy smiled up at him. “I really do love you, you know,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“I know!” he replied, chuckling, “but you could prove it by setting aside Sunday evening to go dancing with me!”

“Oh, Ned,” she responded, “that sounds great. I’d love too!”

Ned paused and looked down at his smart, beautiful, girlfriend. “One of these days I hope my mother DOES become your mother-in-law,” he said softly, and before Nancy could reply, he leaned down, kissed her, and then leaped into his car and drove away. She stood and watched until he disappeared around the corner.

That night, as she readied herself for bed, her thoughts drifted back to Bess and George. They had been her best friends since childhood. They had helped her with many of her mysteries, often risking life and limb. Only once before had their friendship been threatened, and that was with a case that had involved a family inheritance and money. 

It had some similarities to this one. When the girls had taken refuge in the tearoom of The Sign of the Twisted Candles, during a bad storm, they had had no idea that Bess and George were distantly related to its elderly owner, Asa Sidney, or that there was a family feud going back generations between the Sidney’s and the Boonton’s, kin of Bess and George on their mother’s side. 

Nancy had been asked to investigate the parentage of Mr. Sidney’s young friend, Sadie, and that had exposed the riff within the family. Worse yet, Mr. Drew had been hired by Asa as his legal counsel, and executor of his estate, and that had caused the Marvins and Faynes to forbid Bess and George to associate with Nancy, even telling falsehoods which caused both girls to be angry with their longtime friend.

Nancy remembered how heartbroken she had been over the breakup. Her father had been very sympathetic, saying “let time pass and events prove that neither you nor I have meddled in the affairs of the family.” However, this time she was meddling. Unlike the Twisted Candles’ case, she was trying to stop a gang of criminals. She couldn’t help that they were related to her friend.

She finally fell into a deep, but unsettling, sleep. She dreamt that she was walking through a beautiful forest and, although she couldn’t see him, she sensed Ned nearby. They walked for some distance, finally coming to the edge of the forest to see, before them, a large house. It resembled the Bridgeport Gallery and Mr. Phelps was standing in the doorway motioning for them to come in.

“Hello, Mr. Phelps,” Nancy yelled, waving her hand, but Mr. Phelps said nothing and continued to motion to them.

She, and the invisible presence of Ned, walked toward the front door of the gallery only to find that Mr. Phelps had been replaced by George who was shaking her head.

“No entrance!” scowled George, standing in front of them and blocking their way, “no entrance!”

“What do you make of this, Ned?” Nancy asked, turning to find that he was no longer beside her. 

Suddenly she was in the gallery, in a room filled from floor to ceiling with paintings. Ned was calling for her. “In here, Nancy,” he was saying, “I’m in here.”

“Where Ned?” she called to him, looking around, “I can’t find you! Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” she heard him say, and she turned and saw a painting hanging on the wall. Ned was in it, as part of the picture, and a line of ants were crawling across his face.

Nancy awoke with a start to find that she was sitting straight up in her bed. The dream had jarred her awake and she found that she was shaking. 

“What a horrible nightmare,” she gasped, rubbing her eyes and trying to clear her head. She untangled herself from the sheets, swung her legs over, and sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes. 

“I wondered if it means anything?” she mused, now fully awake. Realizing that she was too disturbed to fall back to sleep, she decided to go down to the kitchen and calm herself with a glass of warm milk. She slipped on her slippers and robe and quietly made her way down the hallway. As she descended the staircase, she saw Togo standing at the bottom looking up at her. 

“What are you doing awake, pal?” she said to her Terrier, reaching down to give him a quick scratch between his ears, “did you hear me coming down?”

Togo gave her hand a lick and cocked his head to one side. 

“Well, now,” sighed Nancy, “What say we go to the kitchen and see about some milk for me and a biscuit for you?” Togo did a little dance in agreement and followed his mistress. As they passed the door of the living room, Nancy noticed the album and photos still spread out on the coffee table. She gathered them up, taking them with her into the kitchen. Soon she was once again studying them, while she sipped her milk. 

“Well, what do you know, Togo!” she said, after a while, as she looked closely at the photo of the Fontana painting. She looked down for the dog but, after receiving his treat, Togo had gone to his basket in the corner and was now fast asleep. “Traitor,” she chuckled, picking up her magnifying glass to compare the image of the painting in the album to the one that Ned had taken. “Ned was right. It does help to step away and then look again. Of course, the nightmare helped also although I won’t wish to repeat it!”

It was three o’clock in the morning, but Nancy was too excited to go back to sleep. At six, she called Ned, waking him up to invite him over for breakfast.

“What, now?” asked Ned, half asleep.

“No, silly,” said Nancy, “how about in two hours, at eight?”

“That’s fine, Nancy,” replied Ned, “but can we make that nine. Remember, it takes me about an hour to drive from my house to yours.”

“Oh, alright,” replied Nancy, excitedly, “then nine o’clock. I’ve found something, Ned! And it’s all your fault!” she added, chuckling.

“My fault?” said Ned with a yawn, “glad I could help,” and he fell back to sleep.

Promptly at nine o’clock, Nancy opened the front door to find Ned standing there, hat in hand, a grin on his face.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he teased, “but I’m from out of town and someone told me that I might get some breakfast here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Nancy, looking him up and down and placing her hands on her hips, “we’re a pretty high class joint and you may not be able to afford the meal.”

Ned stepped across the threshold and took Nancy in his arms. “Couldn’t you find some way for me to make up for the lack of money,” he asked, leaning in and giving her a long sensual kiss. Nancy felt a tingle run straight down to her toes. 

“Well, stranger,” she said finally, after they separated and she found her breath, “I’d say that you’ve just paid in full. Come right in.” 

Mr. Drew was already in the kitchen, engrossed in this newspaper, when Ned and Nancy entered the room. 

“Good morning, sir,” greeted Ned, shaking Mr. Drew’s hand, and taking a seat next to Nancy.

“Good morning, Ned,” returned Carson Drew, “glad you could join us. Nancy has something she wishes to show us.”

Over breakfast, Nancy explained what she had discovered.

“At first, I didn’t see it. I suppose you could say that I was looking too closely, but not close enough. Ned suggested that I take a break and, in doing so, I might see things more clearly. Which I did. However, it was my nightmare that really gave me my clue. In my subconscious, I had already discovered it. It just needed to come to the forefront of my mind before I could see it.”

“Daughter,” sighed Mr. Drew, “you’re speaking in code. I don’t have any idea what you’re saying.”

Nancy grinned, and reached over to place the photo album in the middle of the table. She turned to the page of the Lavinia Fontana self-portrait. 

“This was the first of Jeanne Woodright’s paintings to be stolen. You may remember, it was taken from the Bridgeport Gallery and then returned to her home. Do you notice anything strange about it?”

Both Ned and her father looked closely at the painting and shook their heads.

“This is the photograph that Ned took of the same painting yesterday,” Nancy said, placing the photograph on the table next to the one in the album. “Do you notice anything strange about it?” she asked. 

“No,” said both Ned and Mr. Drew, after looking at it for a few minutes. 

“Neither did I, at first,” replied Nancy, “not until I dreamt that Ned had ants crawling on his face.”

“What!” exclaimed Ned, unconsciously rubbing a hand across his chin.

Nancy chuckled. “It was only in my dream, Ned. But it came to me that I remembered seeing what I thought were ants on the painting when we were in Mrs. Woodright’s gallery. Here, take my magnifying glass and look at the piece of paper under Lavinia Fontana’s pen.”

Ned looked through the magnifier at the picture. “Yes, I see. Looks like ants or dirt. It’s hard to tell,” he said, handing the photograph and magnifying glass to Carson Drew.

“Just looks like a series of dots to me,” said Nancy’s father, looking up from the photo, “the artist was showing that she was in the middle of writing on the paper.”

“Now look at the picture in the album,” Nancy said, pointing at the page, “you will see that there are no smudges of dirt or insects on the paper below Lavinia’s pen or that she wished to show that she was in the middle of writing.”

Mr. Drew and Ned both looked and agreed that there was nothing on the painting. Both still confused, they waited for Nancy to explain.

“Dad, you said that the dirt on the painting in Ned’s photo look like a series of dots to you, right?” continued Nancy.

“Yes,” her father answered, “I suppose that Mrs. Woodright’s gallery collects dust and dirt and the painting needs a good cleaning.”

Nancy shook her head. “If you look closely, you will see that they are, indeed, a series of dots,” she said, excitedly, “some short and some long.”

For a moment, the two men said nothing. Suddenly, Ned picked up the magnifying glass and looked again at the current photograph. 

“Oh! Nancy!” he exclaimed, “it’s Morse Code!”

“Exactly!” she laughed, clapping her hands. “Read it out loud, Ned!”

“Well, it looks like the first letter is dot, dot, dash, dot,” he read, looking through the glass.

“F,” said Nancy.

“Dot, dash,” continued Ned.

“A,” said Nancy.

“Dash, dot, dash,” read Ned.

“K,” said Nancy.

“Holy smoke!” exclaimed Carson Drew, leaning forward, his chin dropping.

“Dot!” read Ned, looking up at Nancy and smiling.

“E!” they all called out at once. 

“Someone is trying to tell us that the painting is a fake,” exclaimed Nancy.

“Wow!” exclaimed Ned, reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze, “Nancy, you’re a genius! But are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied, “let me show you the Mary Cassatt!”

Sure enough, carefully added to the newspaper page seen reflected in the mirror of the Cassatt painting, “Reading Le Figaro”, were the same dots and dashes as in the Fontana painting. They did not appear in the photograph of the painting in the album.

They studied several of the other photographs and found at least two more paintings with the word “fake” added to them in Morse Code. One was “Portrait of Cornelia Knight” by Angelica Kauffmann and the other, “The Proposition” by Judith Leyster. Each painting included a depiction of paper or cloth that enabled the dots and dashes to be applied without being too obvious to the viewer. 

“I believe it is the Angelica Kauffman painting that is being investigated by the Rijsmuseum,” replied Nancy.

“How can the painting be in the Netherlands when we saw it hanging on the wall of Mrs. Woodright’s gallery?” asked Ned.

“Because we are dealing with very clever forgeries that are being displayed and sold by Cousin Jeanne to unsuspecting buyers,” Nancy surmised, “the Kauffman we saw was on display for the next victim to purchase.”

“Nancy, if you are right,” said her father gravely, “and I believe that you are, we are dealing with a very cunning and dangerous group of individuals.”

“Who are related to George Fayne,” added Ned sadly.

“That doesn’t mean that George or even her father, are aware of any of this,” replied Nancy, quickly, “after all, George, herself, said that no one knew that side of the family very well.”

“That’s true,” replied Carson Drew.

“That side of her family!” Nancy repeated, suddenly standing and snapping her fingers, “what if the paintings are not the only things being faked?”

“You mean that George’s cousins Jeanne, Phillip, and Randolph are not really who they say they are?” asked Ned.

“Well, Dr. Baker is well known enough to make that impossible,” Mr. Drew pointed out, “perhaps you’re just hoping that this doesn’t involve George and her family.”

“No, Dad,” said his daughter, shaking her head, “perhaps you’re right about Dr. Baker, but it seems odd that Jeanne Woodright hasn’t been seen recently by anyone who could actually identify her.”

“That’s right, Nancy,” agreed Ned, “she fired all of the Woodright’s old staff, two of whom had worked for the family for years and hired folks that hadn’t known her previously.”

“She didn’t go down to the Bridgeport Gallery when the Fontana was missing,” added Nancy, “and only spoke to Mr. Phelps by telephone.”

“When the Rijsmuseum got suspicious, she decided it best to destroy the album containing photographs of the originals, in case the police raided the place,” Carson Drew joined in, “she didn’t want any evidence indicating that she knew that she was displaying forgeries on her walls!”

“What worries me most,” replied Nancy, running a hand through her hair, “is that all of this started right after she came back from her trip with Dr. Baker. If she is a fake, one has to wonder what has happened to the real Jeanne Woodright, and how involved her brother is in this crime.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nancy and Ned sat across from Mr. Eugene Phelps of the Bridgeport Gallery and watched him as he slowly mopped his brow. 

“You needn’t worry, Mr. Phelps,” Nancy gently explained, “we’re not here to investigate your security guard. We’re only interested in how the Lavinia Fontana painting may have gotten stolen from the gallery.”

Mr. Phelps nodded sadly.

“So, is Ed related to you?” Nancy asked.

“Yes” replied Mr. Phelps, “he’s my brother. How did you know?”

“I must admit, I was only guessing. You seemed very protective of him during our first meeting so you are either very close friends or he is a member of your family,” Nancy replied, giving Ned a quick glance, “and we all know how protective we can be of our families.” 

“Yes, indeed,” replied the director, giving Nancy a weak smile.

“Is this the only way he earns an income?” she asked.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Phelps, “Ed was in an automobile accident about thirty years ago, and he suffered a severe brain injury which has resulted in him having frequent seizures. This makes it impossible for my brother to hold down a steady job. At first, my sister-in-law was able to support the two of them but when she died, he was on his own. He needed to work so I convinced our Board that we needed a security guard for our special exhibits, and they agreed to let me hire him.”

“A nice job for a man who really needs it,” replied Ned, quietly.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Phelps, “it’s a perfect job for him. His seizures usually last no more than a few minutes and if he has one here at the gallery, in the middle of the night, it really doesn’t matter. It’s highly unlikely that someone would try and break in at the same time Ed is having one. And, of course, we have the additional protection of the alarm system.”

“Who knows about your brother’s condition?” Nancy asks.

“Just me,” Mr. Phelps replied. Then, he shook his head and added, “no wait, Randolph Woodright knows.”

“Randolph? The young man who helps Dr. Phillip Baker, Jeanne Woodright’s brother?” asks Nancy, excitedly.

“Yes, of course. Randolph is Mrs. Woodright’s son and Dr. Baker is his uncle,” replied Mr. Phelps, “why won’t he help his family?”

“Yes, why not, indeed,” replied Nancy, “was it Randolph who helped with the women artist’s exhibition that involved his mother’s paintings?”

“Yes,” confirmed the director, “he helped set it up and take it down. We were relieved to get his help since so much of the artwork belonged to his mother. Early one evening, while Randolph was here, my brother had one of his seizures. It was not a severe one and Randolph seemed to take it in stride.” Eugene Phelps paused for a moment to return his handkerchief to his jacket pocket. “I’d nearly forgotten about the incident completely and I fail to see how Randolph knowing that my brother has seizures has any connection to his mother’s painting being stolen,” he added.

Nancy did not comment, instead switching the conversation to the alarm system.

“How is it activated?” she asked.

“It’s manually set by turning a dial on the panel there by the door and then pushing the red button,” Mr. Phelps responded, pointing in the direction of the panel, “I set it when I leave at night. There is a twenty second delay which gives me time to get out of the front door. Same thing in reverse when I arrive at the gallery in the morning. I step through the door and have twenty seconds to deactivate the system.”

“Are you the only one that has the combination?” asked Nancy.

“Usually yes,” Mr. Phelps replied, “but, on occasion, I do give it out to our volunteers when they have to work late setting up an exhibition. Once their work is completed, I change the code.”

“Very interesting,” said Nancy, getting up and reaching out to shake his hand, “thank you so much for your time, Mr. Phelps. You’ve been very helpful!”

As Ned and Nancy stood outside of the gallery deciding what their next step should be, they spotted a friendly looking café a few yards across the way.

“I vote for lunch!” exclaimed Ned, grabbing Nancy by the hand and heading in the direction of the café, “I’m hungry!”

“Now that’s a surprise,” she chuckled but had to confess that she was hungry as well. 

The café was as pleasant inside as its appearance outside and Ned and Nancy were grateful to have a few minutes to enjoy some quiet time together. They were seated in a booth by the window and ordered sandwiches and soda. 

They were halfway through their lunch when Ned looked up and saw Jeanne Woodright enter the café. With her was an older gentleman, wearing an expensive suit, and carrying a cane. Ned ducked his head as the pair was seated in the booth next them.

Ned signaled to Nancy who nodded her head in understanding. She leaned back in her seat to listen. 

Mrs. Woodright and her companion ordered only croissants and coffee. 

“Looks like they don’t plan on spending much time over lunch,” whispered Ned, as Nancy, again, nodded.

“Look here, Wilma,” said the man, “you promised me three Fontana’s a month ago. Where are they?”

“I told you I’d get them to you as soon as they’re ready!” replied Mrs. Woodright, “I can give you two right now. That idiot Randolph screwed things up when he took the third one for a local exhibit. It threw off my schedule.”

“You got it back, though, didn’t you?” said the man.

“Yes, but I had to ship that one to a buyer in France,” she replied, “as I said, our schedule got off and put us behind. You’ll get your three paintings, Tony, as I promised you. You know we’re good for it.”

“You keep saying that, Wilma,” replied Tony, “but I’m only getting promises when I should be getting paintings. My buyers in Austria are getting nervous.”

“Look Tony,” replied the woman that Nancy and Ned knew as Jeanne, “we’ve got a sweet racket going on here. Woodright is painting as fast as she can. I think that we’ll get a few more out of her before we have to fold up operations and skip town.”

“Well, I don’t know,” muttered Tony, “I suppose I could keep telling them that you’re working with that local detective so that they think things are on the up and up. Is she still with us?”

“No, I had to let her go,” said Wilma, “the young woman was actually smarter than we thought and a pretty good detective. She was coming close to solving the case!” 

Tony and Wilma both snickered.

“Image us hiring someone to catch us,” chuckled Tony, “that would have been something. Look here, I’ve got to catch my train. Give me a call as soon as the shipment is on its way,” he added as they stood to leave, “and, for your sake and Baker’s, it better be soon.”

He turned and dropped some money on the table as the two walked out of the café. Nancy and Ned saw Tony tip his hat to Wilma as they turned to go their separate ways, he on foot and Wilma sliding behind the wheel of her car and driving away.

“Nancy,” said Ned, looking out of the window at the retreating Tony, “this sounds very serious. Perhaps it’s time we involve the police.”

“Yes, I agree,” replied Nancy, “sounds like we’re dealing with an International gang selling fake artwork. Ned, I’m very worried about the real Jeanne Woodright. Where is she and what is her role in all of this?”

“Sounds like she’s the one painting the forgeries,” replied Ned, leaving money for the check and following Nancy out of the café.

“Yes, but it doesn’t sound like she’s a willing participant,” Nancy remarked.

“How do we know she isn’t?” asked Ned, opening the car door for Nancy.

“Because the gang felt the need to have Wilma impersonate her,” replied Nancy, as Ned slid in next to her and put the key in the ignition. “I’m very worried about George and her family. What will this do to them?” 

“Do you think we should tell them?” asked Ned, pulling away from the curb and heading in the direction of River Heights.

“Yes,” replied Nancy, “George is still my friend, whether she thinks so or not. But I’d like to speak with Dad first and then the police.” 

One hour later they were sitting in front of River Height’s Police Chief McGinnis. Nancy’s father had joined them at the station and sat quietly, his hands folded in front of him, listening as Nancy systematically laid out the facts of the case. She started with her concerns about Mrs. Woodright’s safety.

“We now know that the lady calling herself Jeanne Woodright is not Mr. Fayne’s cousin. I am not sure who she is other than her name is Wilma and she was the one who fired the Woodright’s staff so that no one could identify her. I believe that it is the real Mrs. Woodright who is painting the forgeries, but I believe that she’s doing so against her will.”

“Why do you think this is against her will?” asked the Chief.

“Because she is adding the Morse Code message into each of the paintings,” replied Nancy, “she’s trying to send out a warning.”

Nancy then told the Chief about what she and Ned had overhead in the café. “Wilma told the man named Tony that Randolph had inadvertently thrown off her schedule of distributing the fakes when he took the Fontana painting to the Bridgeport Gallery for the exhibition. They were in a hurry to get the painting back. I believe that it was Randolph who stole it.”

“Randolph?” exclaimed Chief McGinnis, trying to follow Nancy’s explanation, “how?”

“Only two people had the code to the alarm system; the gallery director Mr. Phelps, and Randolph Woodright. Both of these men also knew that the security guard was prone to seizures. I think that we can rule out Mr. Phelps as a suspect since he would have nothing to gain so that leaves Randolph.” 

Nancy glanced at Ned who nodded in agreement.

“I think that Randolph waited until Ed had a seizure,” she continued, “perhaps he could see through one of the windows. He then deactivated the alarm system, entered the gallery, took the painting off the wall, and then reset the alarm and left. The theft would have only taken a minute or so. Ed would have no way to know what happened.”

“Makes sense,” the police chief replied, “do we know anything about this Tony character.”

Ned was able to provide a description of the Tony. “He was a fancy dresser and carried a walking cane. There was something foreign about him. He didn’t have an accent, or anything like that, but there was something about his mannerisms.”

“Like he has travelled abroad extensively?” asked Carson Drew.

“Yes, that’s it!” Ned confirmed, nodding his head.

“Do you think Randolph stole the second painting as well?” asked the chief.

“No,” explained Nancy, “I don’t believe that painting, which was done by Mary Cassatt, was ever stolen. I think that all of this has been a ruse to throw us off the track.”

“Well, Nancy,” sighed Chief McGinnis, “as usual, you’ve come up with a great theory but, unfortunately, we need proof. No one, other than Mrs. Woodright, has claimed to have paintings stolen from them and Mrs. Woodright claims that hers have been returned.”

“But we can prove that some of the paintings are fake,” replied Nancy.

“Which only means that Mrs. Woodright, herself, unwittingly bought fakes and was cheated,” said the Chief, “and she’s not filed any reports with us.” 

“If we could find the real Jeanne Woodright and get her to admit that she’s been forced into painting fakes that Wilma has been selling, that would break the case wide open!” replied Ned, looking around the room.

“I’m afraid that she would be charged with a crime,” said Carson Drew, “but I could possibly get a reduced sentence from the judge if we could prove that she was under duress of some kind.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to find her!” replied Nancy with determination.

“I don’t like the sound of that, Nancy,” said her father, shaking his head, “these people could be very dangerous!”

“I’ll be very careful, Dad,” smiled his daughter, “besides, I’ll have Ned with me.”

Ned nodded to Mr. Drew and Chief McGinnis, and smiling replied, “I have years of experience being Nancy Drew’s bodyguard!”

As the two men chuckled, Nancy winked at him and then said, “there’s a part of this mystery that I find confusing. What’s Dr. Philip Baker’s role is in all this!”


	8. Chapter 8

As they left the police station, Nancy told her father that she and Ned were going to stop by the Fayne home to try and explain the situation to George and her father and, in doing so, hopefully get some answers.

“I won’t count on anything,” said Mr. Drew, sadly, “I would imagine that the Fayne’s will be defensive concerning their relatives.”

Nancy had to agree but also knew that she needed to try anyway.

“I’m not looking forward to the encounter,” she replied, “but I have to follow every lead and Mr. Fayne may be able to tell me a little more about his cousin Philip Baker.”

When they arrived at the Fayne home a few minutes later, it was Mrs. Fayne who welcomed them into the house and sat to answer Nancy’s questions.

“Mr. Fayne is away on business, I’m afraid,” explained George’s mother, “but I’d be happy to try and answer your questions, Nancy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fayne,” replied Nancy, “and I hope you and your family realize that I’m only seeking to solve this case. I’m not trying to cause any trouble or embarrassment.”

“Yes, of course, dear,” sighed Mrs. Fayne, “I know that, although I must tell you that my husband is a little miffed by the whole thing and George is very angry. I’m rather surprised by her reaction, especially since you’ve been friends for so long. Besides, wasn’t it George who asked you to take the case in the first place?”

“Yes,” Nancy answered, “I’ve been surprised at George’s reaction as well.” She didn’t add the deep feeling of hurt she was experiencing. “Mrs. Fayne,” she continued, “how well do you know Jeanne Woodright?”

“Not well at all, really,” replied Mrs. Fayne, “I have met her a few times over the last 22 years, but, in general, we’re not really that close to Mr. Fayne’s side of the family.”

“How would you describe her?” asked Nancy.

“Well, let’s see,” Louise Fayne pondered, “I remember her being a rather shy, polite, woman. Attractive like all of the Faynes,” she added, chuckling.

“You don’t think that Mrs. Woodright is flamboyant in any way?” asked Ned, remembering his uncomfortable encounter with the artist.

“Oh, heaven’s no!” exclaimed George’s mother, “just the opposite. I would say that she’s rather reserved in her manner.”

“How about her brother, Philip Baker?” asked Nancy, “how well do you know him?”

“Very well,” replied Mrs. Fayne, “Philip stops by often, especially in the past several years. He’s quite an authority on rare artwork and travels quite a bit doing speaking engagements. He has dinner with us whenever he’s in town. I’m rather fond of him although I must say that recently his behavior has been rather odd. I believe that something must be troubling him.”

“Yes, Ned and I attended his lecture at Emerson, and he seemed somewhat distracted,” Nancy said, nodding, “do you have any idea what it is that’s on his mind?”

“No idea at all,” replied Louise Fayne, “although it might be financial. He has borrowed some money from my husband on at least two occasions and not paid us back yet. I’m sure that he will as soon as he can,” she quickly added.

Although Ned and Nancy talked to Mrs. Fayne for several more minutes, it was clear that George’s mother had no more information to add. As Nancy stood to leave, she asked if George was at home.

“Yes, she’s upstairs but I’m afraid that she doesn’t want to speak to you at the moment,” replied Mrs. Fayne, wistfully, as she walked them to the door, “I’m sorry, Nancy. But you know how stubborn she can be. I’d advise you to let her be for a while. I’m fairly certain that she’ll come to her senses soon.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Fayne,” said Nancy, “you’ve been very helpful,” and she reached out to shake the woman’s hand. But, instead, Louise Fayne leaned over and gave the young detective a hug.

“Anytime, Nancy dear,” replied Mrs. Fayne, letting her go and closing the door behind them.

As Ned and Nancy made their way to Ned’s car, Nancy happened to glance up at George’s second floor bedroom window. She caught a glimpse of her friend peering out from behind the curtains before quickly stepping back out of sight.

“I hope this case doesn’t end my friendship with George,” she said, turning to Ned, “I almost wish that I hadn’t agreed to take it.”

“Nancy, you are compelled to find the truth no matter what,” replied Ned, taking her hand as they walked down the driveway, “and I know that’s very hard at times. But George knows the kind of person you are, and I believe that she’ll come around eventually.”

“I hope you’re right, Ned,” she replied sadly, “because I really miss her.”

It was getting late by the time Ned dropped Nancy at her home. She gave him a quick kiss with the promise to call him later.

“Yes, she’s just arrived,” she heard Hannah saying into the phone as she entered the house, “Nancy, it’s your father.”

Curious, Nancy took the receiver from Hannah. “Hi, Dad,” she said, “do you have any information for me?” 

She could hear Carson Drew chuckle on the other end of the line. “Can’t a father phone his daughter just to see how she’s doing?” he said.

“Not when he’s due home in a few minutes for dinner,” answered Nancy, “and can talk to her then.”

“O.K., you’ve got me,” replied Mr. Drew, “actually, I just got a call from Chief McGinnis. He’s been doing some investigating and would like to know if the two of us can return to the police station. He’s got something to show you.”

“Oh, Dad!” exclaimed Nancy, “yes, of course! I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

She ran to the kitchen to ask Hannah to hold dinner for a while, and then jumped into her roadster and headed back down to the police station. Her father was just pulling up to the curb and the two of them entered the station together. They were shown into Chief McGinnis’s office immediately and found the Chief studying several photographs.

“Ah, there you are!” Chief McGinnis exclaimed, standing to greet them, “thank you for coming so quickly. I have some very interesting news!”

As Nancy and her father sat down in the chairs across from his desk, Chief McGinnis explained that, after Mr. Drew, Nancy, and Ned had left earlier, he had decided to follow up on Nancy’s theory and had contacted Interpol. He had spoken with British Detective Inspector Harold Pumphrey, from their art crimes division, who informed him that the Rjiksmuseum in the Netherlands had received a forged Kauffman painting from an art dealer in the United States by the name of Jeanne Woodright. 

“DI Pumphrey was very interested in any information we had on this lady and was delighted when I explained to him that we had the best private detective in River Heights working on the case,” said the Chief, smiling at Nancy. “He cabled over these photographs of suspects from a gang of International art thieves. He wanted to see if you can identify them.”

He handed the photographs to Nancy and she instantly recognized the face of Wilma. 

“Yes, that’s the woman, Wilma, who is impersonating Jeanne Woodright,” exclaimed Nancy, excitedly. She handed the picture to her father.

“Her real name is Wilma Thompson,” said the Chief, looking down at his notepad, “she and her husband, Joe, are the leaders of the gang. His picture is the next one.”

Nancy flipped to the next photograph and studied it. The photo was of a man, about 40 years of age, with dark hair and piercing dark eyes. He had a large scar that started at the corner of his forehand and went down his cheek to his chin. 

“I’ve never seen this man before,” said Nancy, “I’d remember a face like that.” The Chief nodded as Nancy turned to the next picture. “This looks like the man named Tony that Ned and I saw in the café. Ned got a better look at him but I’m pretty sure that’s him.”

“His name is Anthony DeSilvo,” replied the Chief, “he is one of their main brokers for the forgeries. He finds buyers for the artwork in Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Luxemburg. He was born in Boston but has spent most of his adult life in Europe.”

Nancy turned to the last photograph in the stack and gasped slightly. It showed Dr. Philip Baker and Randolph standing on a train platform looking over a map.

“This is Dr. Baker and his nephew Randolph,” said Nancy, “but I don’t understand. Are they part of an International gang?”

“Well, not exactly,” replied Chief McGinnis, “DI Pumphrey suspects that they are either on the outer edges of the gang or they’re being forced to do the gangs bidding for some reason.”

“Perhaps repayment of a debt,” mused Carson Drew, “or a threat to the safety of the real Jeanne Woodright.”

“Yes,” nodded the Chief, “Interpol hasn’t figured it out yet other than they are somewhat involved.”

“Dad,” said Nancy, “Mrs. Fayne told me that Dr. Baker has borrowed money from Mr. Fayne on at least two occasions. He has not yet repaid either loan. I wonder if he’s found himself in financial difficulties and has somehow gotten involved with this gang.”

“That would be extremely unfortunate,” replied Chief McGinnis, “because these are people one should definitely not be involved with.”

Later that night, Nancy was on the phone with Ned. 

“Jeanne Woodright is the key to this entire case,” said Nancy, thoughtfully, “if only we could find her!”

“Well, I imagine that she can’t be far away,” sighed Ned, “because they would need easy access to each painting once she’s finished.”

“Yes, I believe you’re right, Ned,” replied Nancy, “that makes sense.”

They were silent for a moment before Ned said, “could she be in her own house, in the attic or perhaps the basement?”

“That’s possible although I would image holding her in the house would be too risky,” replied Nancy, “how would her presence be explained if the staff accidently stumbled upon her? And, even if Wilma came up with a plausible explanation, Jeanne might slip them a message asking for help. After all, her use of Morse Code shows that she’s pretty resourceful.”

“That’s true,” replied Ned, “so, they must have her in some location in River Heights. Perhaps an abandoned warehouse or factory.”

“Possible but also risky,” pondered Nancy, “Wilma needs to keep close tabs on the artist to make sure she’s painting the forgeries. And quickly. The slightest mistake, such as Randolph lending the gallery one of the fakes, puts them behind schedule, causing problems with their buyers.”

Nancy lapsed into silence again before finally asking Ned, “did you see any other buildings on the Woodright property?”

“Hum, no,” Ned answered, but then said, “wait, I believe I saw the corner of a shed near the back corner. I don’t remember its size, exactly, because it was somewhat hidden from view by trees. Frankly, I hardly paid attention to it. Nancy, you don’t think they’ve got poor Jeanne Woodright trapped inside, do you?”

“Oh Ned!” she exclaimed, “it’s a possibility! I must investigate that shed!” she added, glancing up at her desk clock. “It’s after midnight now. Can you be ready for me to pick you up at daybreak?”

“Let’s see, that will be 6:00 am,” replied Ned, “yes, I’ll be ready.”

“This doesn’t leave us with much sleep,” noted Nancy, “so I think we’d better say goodnight for now.”

“Goodnight, Detective Drew,” said Ned, “I love you.”

“Goodnight, bodyguard,” Nancy said in return, “I love you too!” 

Exactly at 6:00 am that morning, Nancy pulled up in front of the Nickerson home, just as the sun was rising. Ned was waiting for her on his porch and he sprinted down his front steps toward her car.

“Burrr,” he mumbled, rubbing his hands together as he slid into the passenger seat beside her, “it’s cold this morning.”

Leaning in and giving him a quick kiss, Nancy agreed saying, “yes, but it should get warmer as the sun rises. Sorry to drag you out so early but I wanted to investigate the Woodright property before anyone in the house woke up.”

“Yes,” replied Ned, yawning, “and there is always the pack of dogs to consider.”

Nancy chuckled and gave him a poke. “Hopefully they’ll be asleep as well and won’t hear us. But we will have to be on our guard.”

They drove mostly in silence, Nancy catching Ned napping from time to time, and arrived at the Woodright home just before 7:00 am. They decided to park in the same place as before, just around the corner, and stepped out of the vehicle. Nancy carried a small bag with her which contained a flashlight, fingerprint kit, and her lock picking tools. 

Silently they made their way to the familiar hedgerow and crept along it until they neared the location where Ned had seen the corner of the shed. He pointed in its direction and motioned for Nancy to follow. It was a little slow going as there was no path in which to walk quietly. After several minutes, they were close enough to see that the structure was not a shed, at all, but a large horse barn. 

“It looks like the entrance is over there,” whispered Nancy, pointing to a large wooden barn door.

When they reached the door, Ned discovered that it was locked. 

“Do you think you can pick it?” he asked Nancy.

“Yes,” she replied, reaching into her bag and bringing out her tools, “keep a lookout in case anyone comes.”

As Ned stood to one side, keeping his gaze on the house several yards away, Nancy went to work on the lock, quickly opening it in a matter of minutes.

“I’m glad you’re on my side,” Ned said, impressed, as he followed Nancy inside and quietly closed the door behind them.

“Just remember that, Nickerson,” replied Nancy, smiling, as she flipped on her flashlight and panned the room with its beam. 

The room appeared to be a former tack room for a stable of horses. There was a small cabinet in the corner, several ropes and harnesses hanging from the walls, and at least two saddles. The room was warm and musty, and a thin layer of dry hay covered the floor. 

“I wonder how long ago this barn was used,” Nancy whispered.

“Mrs. Woodright probably sold any horses they owned once her husband died,” replied Ned, rubbing his hand over one of the saddles.

“Ned, look,” said Nancy, pointing across the room, “there’s another door. It must lead into the stable room where the horses would have been kept.”

And it was at that moment that she heard Ned moan and saw him fall to the floor. She had taken one step toward him when she felt something strike the back of her head and the world go black as she crumbled to the ground beside him.


	9. Chapter 9

“Nancy! Nancy! Can you hear me? Wake up, sweetheart, please!”

Nancy heard the voice coming through the darkness but could not tell where it was coming from. Her head hurt terribly, and she let out a moan as she tried to open her eyes. 

“Nancy, are you awake?” said the voice, “can you hear me?”

She realized that the voice belonged to Ned. “Yes, Ned,” she forced herself to reply, “what happened?”

“We were knocked out,” he replied, weakly, “and I think my head is bleeding. I must have cut it when I hit the floor.”

“You’re bleeding?” exclaimed Nancy, but as she tried to turn in his direction, she discovered that she couldn’t move. Her feet and hands were tied, and she and Ned were tied together back to back. They had been placed on their sides.

“Nancy,” said Ned, “are your hands tied?”

“Yes,” she answered, “as are my feet. How about you?”

“The same,” he answered, chagrined, “I’m sorry Nancy. I should have seen our assailant coming. I haven’t protected you very well, have I!”

“It’s not your fault, Ned,” Nancy replied, trying to ignore the pain in her head, “I didn’t hear anything either. He must have been hiding somewhere inside and neither of us saw him. Let’s see if we can sit up.”

“We’ll have to move together,” said Ned, “on the count of three.”

Nancy readied herself and, when Ned reached one, she and Ned sat upright.

“That worked well,” replied Nancy, wincing as the ropes chafed her wrists. She was very much relieved to be sitting up. In this position, she could look around and assess their surroundings. 

They were alone and bound together with a thick rope that was wrapped around their chests. The rope had been one of those she had seen hanging on the wall. 

“So, our attacker used what was available,” Nancy thought to herself. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a small puddle of blood where Ned had been lying. 

“Ned, can you tell if you’re still bleeding?” she asked as calmly as she could. She was concerned for him, of course, but she also couldn’t afford for him to faint from loss of blood while they were tied together. Not only was her boyfriend much taller, he was solid muscle and weighed nearly twice as much as she did. It would be like dragging an anchor should she need to scoot across the floor in an attempt to escape.

“I can’t tell,” replied Ned, and perhaps reading her mind, added, “but I don’t feel as though I’ll pass out, sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well, I am worried about you,” she replied, “but I’m also not sure I could drag Emerson’s star quarterback across the floor without his help. We will need to find something sharp to cut these ropes.”

“Yes,” agreed Ned, “but let’s see if I can untie your hands before we decide we have to move.”

However, the lack of space between them did not permit them enough room to reach the knots that tied each other’s wrists. After ten minutes of attempting to lean and wiggle away from each other, they gave up. Nancy looked around again, this time spotting a small cabinet across the room.

“I wonder if there is something inside that cabinet that we might be able to use to cut these ropes?” she wondered out loud.

“Yes, there is an old saw and some Hoof rasps and picks on the bottom shelf,” replied a voice coming from the direction of the stable door.

Startled, Ned and Nancy quickly turned their heads toward the door, expecting to see their attacker, but no one was there. 

Realizing that the voice must have come from inside the stables, Nancy called out, “Mrs. Woodright?”

“Yes, I’m Jeanne Woodright,” said the voice from behind the door. “I’m terribly sorry you’ve been captured. Are you Nancy Drew, by any chance?”

“Yes,” replied Nancy, “I’m here with my boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. We were searching for you. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Woodright, “as well as one can be while being held hostage.”

“As soon as we free ourselves, we’ll get you out of here,” added Ned, once again wiggling his fingers in a futile attempt to loosen the rope that bound him.

“Mrs. Woodright,” said Nancy, “how did you guess that I was Nancy Drew?”

“Because I overheard Wilma talking about you with my brother Philip,” Mrs. Woodright answered, “my brother told me that they had hired you so that they could lessen the suspicions of their buyers and even the police. They never expected you to uncover their scheme. They’ve been passing off fake paintings. I knew of your reputation and figured that it was only a matter of time before you’d come looking for me!” she added with a chuckled. 

“A lot of good it did us,” Nancy replied in frustration, “it looks like we walked right into a trap.”

“No, not really,” replied Mrs. Woodright, “your timing was just off. Joe had just brought me my dinner when he heard you approaching the outside door, which he always locks behind him. He warned me to be quiet while he snuck back into the tack room and waited. Once you came in, it was easy for him to knock you both out and tie you up. I only wish I had yelled out a warning,” she added, mournfully.

“Please don’t blame yourself,” said Nancy, “it’s possible that he would have captured us anyway and harmed you for warning us. But this does mean that the gang knows we’re here so we must quickly free ourselves before someone comes back.”

“Nancy, do you think we can stand by leaning against each other and pushing off the ground?” asked Ned.

“It’s worth a try,” agreed Nancy, “but we’ll have to lean at exactly the same time in order for it to work.”

Ned nodded. “When I say go!” he exclaimed, “ready?”

“Yes,” replied Nancy, and waited for Ned’s cue, before she pushed against him with all her might while she simultaneously tried to push off the ground.

It was no use. Although they finally managed to stand after numerous attempts which resulted in them plopping back down to the floor, their height difference made it impossible for Nancy’s feet to stay on the floor if Ned stood up straight. 

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she sighed, as they slide gently back down to the floor, “if only your feet were free, Ned, you could walk over to the cabinet while carrying me on your back.”

“Let’s try rolling over to it,” suggested Ned, “that way we don’t need to use our feet.”

They wiggled and rolled but made no progress across the floor. Although Ned could roll Nancy over his back easily, she just ended up trapped beneath him, unable to roll him off her without extreme effort and his help. This meant that they turned in a circle without moving in inch towards the cabinet.

“Let’s rest a minute,” Nancy said, panting, “I need to catch my breath.”

It was then that she felt his shoulders shaking. Ned was laughing. 

“Ned Nickerson!” she exclaimed, “are you laughing?”

“No!” he responded, now laughing louder, “yes!”

“I fail to see what’s so funny!” Nancy said, trying to sound stern.

“Well, you see Nancy,” he choked out, “in all the times I imagined us rolling around on the floor together, it was never like this!” and now he was laughing so hard that he had tears running down his face. Unfortunately, this reopened the cut over his eye and new blood, mixed with his tears, ran down his face and onto the front of his shirt.

“Ned!” exclaimed Nancy, blushing down to the roots of her hair, “if you think for one minute…” she sputtered, “that we’d…..what do you mean ‘all the times you imagined?’” but by now she had begun to laugh, also. They really were in a ridiculous predicament. 

When they were finally able to pull themselves together, she called out, “Mrs. Woodright, I apologize. I can’t imagine what you must think of us.”

“I think you are a very sweet couple,” replied Mrs. Woodright, through the door, “after all, I was in love once, myself.”

Nancy and Ned lay silently for a moment contemplating on what Jeanne Woodright had just said. As bad as things were, at least it was the two of them that were tied together. They loved and respected each other. And they were used to working as a team. They were certain to figure a way out of this.

It was Ned who finally said, “Nancy, do you still have enough strength to sit up?”

“Yes, I think so,” she replied softly, and moved with Ned to a seated position.

“Now, sweetheart,” he continued, “here’s what I’d like to try. We’ll scoot around until you’re facing the cabinet. Then, all you have to do is keep your legs straight out in front of you and brace your back while I bend my knees and press my heels against the floor. I should be able to propel us forward. Do you think you can manage it?”

“Yes,” said Nancy, hopefully, “that sounds like an excellent idea. Let’s give it a try.”

They slid around clockwise until Nancy was facing in the direction of the cabinet. Then Ned bent his knees and, although his ankles were still tied together, managed to dig his heels into the ground and push. Nancy slid forward as Ned’s legs straightened.

“Ned, it’s working!” she exclaimed.

He repeated the motion until Nancy’s outstretched legs touched the door of the cabinet.

“One more push, Ned,” she said, “but make it about half in length so that I have room to open the door.” 

Soon Nancy was able to pry open the small cabinet door by using the edge of her shoe. She snagged a large hoof rasp between the rope that bound her ankles and then asked Ned to pivot them around and push her toward a nearby post. There was a metal cable that ran down it, having once been part of a wench system to lower hay from a loft above.

“If I can just anchor this rasp between the cable and post, we can use it to fray the rope that holds us together,” said Nancy. She held the rasp between her ankles as tightly as possible and lifted her legs up just enough to line up her feet with the cable. Careful not to drop it, she successfully pushed the point of the rasp under the cable, resting it securely in place.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“Now to rotate until we’re right next to it,” observed Ned, and he slowly pivoted them around and beside the rasp.

“Please be careful,” called out Mrs. Woodright, “it will be sharp.”

“That’s what we’re counting on,” whispered Nancy, as she and Ned carefully positioned their bodies so that the rasp was tucked just under one of the bands of rope that bound them together. “Now we rock from side to side,” she instructed Ned, “are you ready?”

“Yes,” replied Ned, “I’ll follow your lead,” and joined her as she rocked from side to side.

“One, two, one, two,” chanted Nancy, establishing a rhythm as the rope rubbed against the rasp. 

Joining in on the beat, Ned started singing as Nancy counted. “I’ve been working on the railroad,” he sang, quietly “all the live-long day…”

The next thing they knew, Jeanne Woodright joined in, keeping her voice slightly above a whisper, “I’ve been working on the railroad, just to pass the time away…”

Nancy looked over at the rope and could see it starting to fray.

“Dinah won’t you blow… one, two, one, two… Dinah won’t you blow,” suddenly the rope snapped in half and started to unravel from around Nancy and Ned. They twisted and turned until they were free of each other. With their hands and feet still tied, they swiveled around to face one another. 

“Oh, Ned,” Nancy exclaimed, seeing for the first time the blood dripping down from the cut above his eye, “that cut is bleeding pretty badly!”

“It looks worse than it really is,” replied Ned, “I can barely feel it.” He leaned over to give her a kiss but suddenly stopped and pulled back, not wanted to risk getting his blood on her.

Nancy, however, smiled at him fondly and leaned in to kiss him anyway. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered in his ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied with a smile.

Nancy scooted over to the post. She pushed herself up and, turning to rest her back against it, began rubbing the robe around her wrists across the rasp. Soon, it was cut and fell to the floor. She then dropped down next to Ned and untied his hands. Before long, the two of them had freed their ankles. They jumped to their feet and into each other’s arms for a brief hug before moving toward the door that blocked them from Jeanne Woodright.

Nancy was not surprised to find it locked. She looked around for her bag but it was nowhere in sight.

“Mrs. Woodright,” she said through the door, “I’m going to have to find a way to pick the lock. It might take me a few minutes.”

“Why don’t you just use the key?” replied the woman from the other side.

“The key?” repeated Nancy, looking from the lock to Ned, who just shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, there is a key under the old straw hat that is sitting on top of the cabinet,” Jeanne Woodright explained with a chuckle, “my husband and I kept it there incase we forgot to bring the key from the house.”

Ned ran to the cabinet, lifted the hat, and held up the key. He tossed it to Nancy who caught it, unlocked the door, and swung it open.

“Nancy Drew, I presume,” said the attractive woman inside, “I’m delighted to finally meet you!” 

Mrs. Jeanne Woodright resembled her brother but had a softer look about her. She looked to be around 35 years of age, with shimmering dark hair and deep blue eyes. She wore a large apron covered with paint. There was a familiar air about her that reminded Nancy of George. Cousin Jeanne looked kind, gentle, strong and courageous. 

Without hesitation, Nancy stepped forward and gave the woman a warm hug, “you can’t imagine how glad I am to see you!” she exclaimed, pulling back and giving the woman a bright smile.

“Oh dear!” said Mrs. Woodright, spying Ned over Nancy’s shoulder, “we must take care of your Ned right away.”

“I’m really fine,” replied Ned, blushing, “shouldn’t we be trying to get out of here first?” he added but Mrs. Woodright gently guided him to a stool that was set up in front of an easel. 

“We don’t need you fainting on us or struggling to see through all this blood running across your eye,” stated Mrs. Woodright, “Besides, this won’t take long. I have a basin and towel over here that they permit me to wash in,” she explained, walking over and picking up a bucket of water. She poured the water into the basin and then dipped the towel into it before handing it to Nancy. “Perhaps you can dab the wound while I look for a band aid in the first aid kit.” She said, walking out of her prison and into the tack room. She returned quickly with a small satchel. Reaching inside, she brought out a large band aid and a tub of antiseptic cream. “I’m lucky to be held hostage in my own horse shed where I can find things,” she added, smiling.

Nancy gently cupped Ned’s chin with one hand as she treated the wound. Soon, although his collar and shirt still showed the evidence, Ned’s face was free of blood with a band aid covering the cut. 

Taking a quick glance around the room, Nancy noticed paintings by Lavinia Fontana and Mary Cassatt leaning up against the stable wall. Next to Mrs. Woodright’s easel was a painting by Judith Leyster and, on the easel, a copy of the same painting in progress.

“My next criminal act,” sighed Jeanne Woodright, “it appears I won’t have time to finish it!” and with that, she picked up her paint brush and angrily smeared some paint across it.

Nancy stepped forward and took Mrs. Woodright by the arm. “It’s time we get out of here,” she exclaimed, “we’ll go the way we came, through the woods and along the hedgerow. My car is parked around the corner.”

Placing her between them, Nancy and Ned led Mrs. Woodright out of the stable, across the tack room, to the outside door. They swung the door open and came face to face with the barrel of a pistol.


	10. Chapter 10

“And where do you think you’re going?” asked the man who Nancy recognized as Wilma’s husband, Joe Thompson.

He motioned them back with a wave of the gun and stepped inside. Behind him was Wilma Thompson and Philip Baker. They rushed past him and into the stables, returning carrying the Fontana, Cassatt, and Leyster paintings.

“Let’s go Joe,” said Wilma to her husband, as she made her way to the door, “Randolph’s got the car running. It’s time to cut and leave this hole.”

“What do we do about them?” Joe asked, pointing his gun at Ned, Nancy, and Jeanne.

“Lock them up in the stable,” she replied, “that should keep ‘em for a while,” and she motioned to Philip Baker to follow her. As Wilma rushed out, Dr. Baker, who was carrying the Leyster painting, shrugged his shoulders at his sister and moved toward the door.

“Na,” muttered Joe, “I’m going to kill ‘em.

Philip Baker stopped and turned to speak to Joe.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “Wilma told you to lock them in the stable. She didn’t say anything about killing anyone.” He put down the painting and went to stand by his sister.

“Look here, professor,” snarled Joe Thompson, “Wilma isn’t the only one who calls the shots around here. I’m just as much a boss of this outfit as she is!”

“But the punishment for murder is much tougher than it is for selling art forgeries,” said Nancy, stepping forward. Ned quickly stepped forward to stand next to her. His plan was to shield her should things become ugly.

Joe chuckled. Still pointing his gun at the group, he said, “so, the famous detective has figured it all out, has she?”

“Not all of it,” replied Nancy, trying to remain calm. If only she could stall long enough for someone to come to their rescue. “What is Dr. Baker’s role in all this?”

Philip Baker himself answered her. “After my sister finished a forgery, it was my job to deliver it to the buyer. Since I travel so often, it was easy for me to do so without drawing any attention.”

“And Randolph. He travelled with you. Did he help with the deliveries?” asked Nancy.

“No, that wasn’t his job,” answered Dr. Baker, shaking his head, “he’s a Coordinator. He scheduled speaking engagements near my delivery sites. Sometimes he’d arrange for buyers to attend one of my lectures so that we could receive payments. Randolph’s also a recruiter, bringing useful people into the gang.”

“Randolph’s been a big help to us for many years,” replied Joe, with a smug, “in fact, it was Randolph that brought Philip to us.”

“But why, Dr. Baker?” asked Ned, turning to the man, “you’ve been such a respected expert in the art world. Why risk that?”

Philip Baker looked down at his feet and said nothing.

“It’s about money, isn’t it?” said Nancy, “you’ve gotten yourself into trouble and that’s why you borrowed money from Mr. Fayne.”

“Yes,” snickered Joe, “Philip owes a lot of money to some very bad people. Gambling can be quite a dangerous addiction, can’t it, professor?”

“Yes,” replied Philip softly, looking up at Joe, “I should have gotten the help I needed instead of getting involved with you.”

“Well, now,” Joe said, a sinister grin on his face, “your troubles are over. You’re going to die along with your sister.” He paused and looked around at the group standing before him. “The only decision I have to make is who’s going to get it first.”

Nancy could see Ned out of the corner of her eye. He was getting ready to tackle Joe, so she made a slight wave of her hand, signaling him to stay back. Seeing this, Ned shifted his weight but did not move further.

“I have one more question,” said Nancy, “before you shoot me. Why was Wilma impersonating Mrs. Woodright? That seems elaborate and rather risky.”

“We couldn’t trust Jeanne to sell the forgeries,” answered Joe, “besides, it was quicker to have Jeanne do the paintings while Wilma handled the sales. Fortunately, Jeanne is a very good forger and Wilma is very good at pawning them off on unsuspecting buyers. We’ve had a really sweet racket here but now it’s time to say goodbye.”

With that, Joe lifted his pistol and pointed it directly at Nancy’s head. “I’ve decided that the meddling girl who disrupted our little enterprise will die first!” and he closed one eye and took aim.

Suddenly, and without warning, Nancy saw him crumple to the ground, rendered unconscious. It happened so quickly that it took her a few seconds to realize that someone had been standing behind him and was now leaning over his motionless body, holding a bat in her hands.

“George!” shouted Nancy, hardly believing her eyes.

“Looks like all that batting practice finally came in handy,” chuckled George, stepping over Joe’s body and throwing her arms around Nancy. “Are you O.K.?” she asked.

“Yes, everything’s O.K., now! Gosh, am I glad to see you!” exclaimed Nancy, tightly hugging her friend.

Ned stepped forward to give George a hug as did her cousin Philip. Then, looking at the woman standing next to him, George said, “and you are my cousin Jeanne! It’s been years since we’ve met but I remember you!” and she stepped forward to embrace her cousin.

“It’s so nice to see you, Cousin George!” said Jeanne Woodright, “you came just in the nick of time!”

“Yes, George! How on earth did you manage to get here?” asked Nancy, making her way out of the door with George and heading toward the house.

“Well, to start with, Bess kept at me until I came to my senses about your investigation,” began George, a bit sheepishly, “I’m really sorry for the way I’ve acted, Nance. I was wrong. Bess pointed out that you’re more my family than my father’s cousins. And, if a side of my family is guilty of a crime than you must bring them to justice! I’ve acted terribly. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Indeed yes!” replied Nancy, chuckling and sliding her arm into George’s, “besides, I’d say you certainly made up for it by saving my life just now! I thought I was a goner!”

“Speaking of Bess,” said Ned, coming up along side them, “where is she?”

“She’s gone for the police. We had driven over to Nancy’s house so that I could apologize. When we got there, Hannah told us that you two had driven over here,” explained George, “so we figured that you could use a little help. When we arrived, we saw Nancy’s roadster parked around the corner and cousin Jeanne, I mean the fake cousin Jeanne, running back and forth throwing suitcases into the truck of her car. We realized that you two might be in trouble, so Bess dropped me off at the hedgerow and drove off to the police station. I grabbed my bat before she took off and ducked into the woods. I was going to investigate the house first but when I heard singing coming from this direction, I decided to follow it. Just as I was making my way slowly through the woods, I see this character coming across the lawn in this direction. Cousin Philip, and the fake cousin Jeanne were hot on his heels, saying something about grabbing some paintings and making their getaway.”

They were nearing the back door of the house by now and could hear police sirens coming down the road. 

“So, you waited just outside the door,” Ned teased George, “so you could jump in just in time to bash someone in the head with a bat.”

“Yes, something like that,” George joked back, “Nancy has trained us to always approach a possible crime scene carefully and investigate before rushing into a potential trap. You should know that by now, Ned Nickerson!”

Ned just laughed and stepping directly behind them, wrapped his arms around them both, as they entered the Woodright house.

“Oh, it’s good to be back in my home,” exclaimed Jeanne, following close behind them and plopping down on the couch, “Wilma made Philip lock me up in the stables as soon as we arrived home from our vacation. I never even got a chance to unpack my bags.”

“So that’s when the switch in cousins happened,” said Nancy, “Wilma needed you out of the way so that she could fire all the staff and begin her impersonation.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” answered Philip Baker, “I’ve been a very bad brother.” He turned to his sister and said, “I am so very, very, sorry Jeanne. I never met for this to happened. I thought that we could get you to do a few forgeries and I could make enough money to pay off my debts. I never meant for you to be kept as a hostage in the barn!”

His sister only looked at him, and shook her head, saying nothing. 

A moment later the police entered the house with Bess right behind them. Following her, was Mr. Drew, who ran over to his daughter and threw his arms around her.

“Thank goodness you’re alright, Nancy!” he exclaimed, “I’ve been so worried. When you left so early this morning, I assumed you’d only be gone for a few hours. Why it’s nearly 5:00!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Dad,” replied Nancy, looking up at him, “Ned and I ran into a bit of trouble, but we did manage to find Mrs. Woodright, and capture Joe Thompson. He’s laying unconscious in the horse barn.”

One of the police officers overheard Nancy’s comment and ran out the back door to make the arrest.

Carson Drew looked over at Ned and noticed the band aid over his eye, which was starting to show some bruising, and the dried blood on his shirt. “A bit of trouble, huh?” he said, “I’m not sure I want to know.”

After Jeanne Woodright and Philip Baker were arrested and taken to the police station, Ned and Nancy stayed behind to give their statements to the officers. Mr. Drew had gone with Mrs. Woodright to the station after she accepted his offer to act as her attorney. Bess and George left for River Heights soon after.

It was after 7:00 by the time Ned and Nancy finally arrived back at the Drew home. After some minor coaxing, Ned agreed to stay for dinner. He and Nancy had missed lunch, and both hungerly ate everything Hannah set down in front of them. Afterwards, they sat together out on the front porch, Ned’s arm wrapped around Nancy’s shoulders.

“Nancy?” said Ned, softly, after a few minutes.

“Yes, Ned?” replied Nancy, resting her head against his chest.

“You came so close to being killed today,” he said, his words catching in his throat. “I almost lost you.”

“I know, Ned,” she replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“I was really frightened,” Ned admitted.

“Me too,” Nancy replied.

“You were?” he asked, “you certainly didn’t show it.”

“I was,” she confirmed, tilting her face up to look at him, “but it was important to try and stall for time. I just needed to keep him talking in hopes that someone would find us.”

“Like George,” smiled Ned, leaning down and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Yes, like George,” replied Nancy, snuggling a bit closer.

They sat in silence for a few minutes more before Ned spoke again.

“Nancy?” he said.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she answered.

“If anything should ever happen to you,” said Ned, seriously, “I simply couldn’t go on living.” 

Nancy straightened up to look at him. “Ned,” she replied, “please don’t say that. Of course you’d go on. It might be tough at first….” 

But the look in his eyes made her stop. She blushed slightly, paused, and then, reaching up, gently rested her hand along the bruised bandaged cut above his eye. “Well, then,” she said, softly, “I suppose I’ll have to make sure to live a very long life,” and she kissed him. 

Mr. Drew arrived minutes later. 

“Well, I was able to get Mrs. Woodright out on bail,” he said, “she’ll have to stand trial, of course, but I hope to be able to get her a reduced sentence since she was an involuntary accomplice. And, after all, she was trying to alert buyers about the forgeries by painting in the Morse Code message. Dr. Baker, however, will have to stay in jail until his trial,” Mr. Drew continued, “by the way, he’ll be joined by Mrs. Thompson and Randolph, both were arrested at a gas station a few miles away. Apparently, she was coming back across the lawn to urge her husband to hurry up, when she saw George knock the daylight’s out of him. She decided not to wait, and she and Randolph tried to escape on their own.”

“I have no sympathy when it comes to the Thompson’s but why did Randolph get involved with such people and turn against his own mother?” asked Nancy.

“Mrs. Woodright confessed to me that Randolph has always been in trouble,” replied her father, removing his coat and draping it over his arm, “he was kicked out of several schools and could never hold down a job. It’s not surprising that he would turn to a life of crime.”

“I’m surprised at Dr. Baker, myself,” replied Ned, “how could such an esteemed expert keep doing speaking engagements when all the while he was delivering fake paintings.”

“From what his sister tells me,” Mr. Drew explained, “he was desperate for money to cover his gambling debts. He would do anything to get it and the gang had an opportunity to use him. His travels allowed him to deliver the fake art and he actually used his lectures to send coded messages to buyers in the audience.”

“That’s why he changed his lecture on female artists to that of van Gogh!” exclaimed Nancy, snapping her fingers, “I wondered about that!”

“Exactly,” replied Mr. Drew, “there was a buyer in the audience when he spoke at Emerson, that day.”

“Wow!” said Ned, “what a scam!”

“Yes,” smiled Carson Drew, “and thanks to Nancy, it’s over!” and with that, he entered the house in search of dinner.

Ned and Nancy remained on the porch, enjoying the evening. It was relatively quiet, although they could hear music softly coming from a neighbor’s radio next door. It had been a long and tiring day, and both were glad that the dangerous case was over.

Ned broke the silence by asking, “do you know what day it is, Nancy?”

“Sunday?” she replied, puzzled and looked up at him.

“Yes, it’s Sunday,” he smiled back at her.

Suddenly she remembered. “Oh Ned!” she exclaimed, “it’s Sunday and tomorrow is Monday. And you are leaving tomorrow to go back to Emerson AND we were supposed to go out dancing tonight!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Ned chuckled, “we were supposed to go dancing.”

Nancy sprung to her feet and looked at her wristwatch. It was definitely too late for them to go out now. 

“I’m so sorry, Ned!” she said, with disappointment, “I don’t know why you put up with me!”

He just chuckled and pulled her back down next to him. “I guess it’s because I love you! So, what’s a guy to do?”

Nancy said nothing for a moment before standing back up, and making a little bow, extended her hand out to him. “Well, there is something you can do.”

Ned raised his eyebrows, “There is?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling, “Mr. Nickerson, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

“It will be my pleasure, Miss. Drew,” Ned replied, getting to his feet and taking Nancy in his arms, “always.” 

They danced for nearly an hour, out on the porch, under the stars, happy to be together, as the music drifted across the lawn.

~~ The End ~~


End file.
